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JULY, 1857, TO JXTISFE, 1858. 

• ^ 





Entered according to Act of Congrew, In the yean 1857-^ 


Id the Clerk'g Office, of the District Court of the Northern District of the State of Oalifornla. 


A Mammofii Task, ( Illastration ) . . . . 15 

A Night on the Slough.....'. 18 

A PMly Piece of Business 70 

An Independent Lyric 39 

A Desultory Poem 109 

A Few Words to "Doings" 136 

A Desultory Poem 167 

A Qood Rule for Parents and Teach- 
ers 168 

An ETcning Scene at Boston Flat, 

(Blnstration) 203 

A Tale of Mexico... 211 

AnOmnil»as Ride...: 222 

A Desoltory Poem— Canto III 214 

A Califomia Grape, (Illostration)... 244 

A Tale for Christmas 257 

A Desultory Poem--^anto lY 265 

Atlantic and Pacific Railroad, (II- 

Inatrated) 300 

AdTentores of CaUfomia Physician. 322 

A True Account of Hoops 326 

A Lament 359 

Adventures of a Cal. Physician, No. 2 363 

A Word to the Discouraged 368 

An Unlucky Day 369 

A Night on the Sacramento River... 398 

A Desultory Poem--Canto VI 408 

A Glimpse at our Childhood 409 

Adventures of a Cal. Physician, No. 3 418 

A Tale of the Gieat Cafion 449 

A Thought ^ 457 

A Deniltory Poem— Canto \U 469 

Adventure in Pitt River Valley 515 

A Mother^ Love 515 

A IXgger in the Chimney 560 

Addaide, the Female Gambler 561 

Bachelor Pennywhistle... 9 

Bean^ 80 

Be Kind to All 86 

Butlei^Making in the Valleys of the 
Sierraa • 355 

Beards 402 

Brigham Young 485 

Church Going and Fashion 21 

Consolation 14 

Couldn't Do It 2GG 

Countess of San Diego— Continued.. 545 

Dream Land 21 

Dream of Spriggins, (Illustrations).. 574 
Extract from a Miner's Journal.130, 178 

Evenings with the Poets 

181, 211, 374, 458, 500 

EniTOlt's Table : — First Number of 
Second Volume— Our Contributors 
— Our Readers — California Life- 
Poetry — Prose— Fourth of July — 
Progress, 46. Outside Impres- 
sions of California — Telegraphic 
and Postal — More Water Wanted 
First California Industrial Exhi- 
bition — State Agricultural Fair — 
About Going to Church, 91. The 
Coming Election — The Industrial 
Exhibition of 1857— Our Metallic 
Resources, &c., 141. Political 
Repudiation — ^The First Overland 
Mail, 189. Homeland — Immigrar 
tion, 238. Darkness — ^The Cause 
Daybreak, 285. The Season— To 
Friends, Contributors, Subscrib- 
ers, Readers and Well-Wishers — 
Meeting of the Legislature, 334. 
The President's Ideas on the Pa- 
cific Railroad — ^The Mormon Re- 
bellion — Financial Daylight to 
California — ^The New Governors- 
Seventh Session of the California 
Legislature, 382. San Francisco 
Book Clubs, 431. Law Makers- 
Love Making, 479. Our Third 
Volume— Literary Thieves — The 






Pacific Mail Steamship Company 
— ^The Navigation Company — Our 
" Portrait Gallery "—Cost of Liv- 
ing in San Francisco— Religions 
Revivals — New Gold Discovery, 
&c., 524. End of the Second Vol- 
ume—About California Literature 
— ^Death of Col. Benton — ^About 
writing Home— The Unfortunate 
Spriggins— Prosperity in the Mines 
—The " Hesperian/' 671 
Fire ! Fire ! I Fire 1 1 1 (lUustrations) 49 
Further Adventures of Mr. Flimp- 

kins 143,191 

Fort Miller, (Illustrations) 440 

Fashionable Falsehood 514 

Gingerly & Co 128 

Grumbling in a Railroad Depot 155 

Get It 223 

Gold Lake — ^an Indian Legend 557 

Hydraulic method of Mining (Illusr 

tration) 1 

Hie for the LiUes 20 

How Came it There ? 39 

Home 115 

How I Painted John Smith's Por- 
trait 159 

Homes of the Old Pioneers 243 

Home Manufactures (Illustration)... 247 

Happy New Year < 303 

How to obtain True Greatness 426 

Lines 16 

Lake Bigler (Illustration) 107 

Lecture upon Minnie-ralogy 160 

Life Pictures 254 

Lines after Sickness 396 

Literary Notice 45 

Mining for Gold in California (Illus- 
trations) 2 

My Cabin Home 41 

My Child Friend 161 

My Mother 226 

My Friend Butler 280 

Mary Morton 353 

My Teachers, (No. 1) 416 

Members of California Senate (with 

Portraits) 433 

Mexican Land Claims in California 442 
Memory's Dream 462 

My Teachers, (No. 2) 468 

Mountain Meditations 232 

Monthly Chat with Correspondents.. 576 
Native Califomians Throwing the 

Lasso (Illustrations) 103 

Ourselves 1 

Our Interpreter 36 

0, Can'st Thou Forget Me? 311 

Overland for a Railway (Hlustra- 

tions) 337 

One of Nature's Provisions for Self 

Protection. 366 

Old Block Resurrected 401 

Object and Aim of Life 519 

Our Social Chair : — Jovial Corner 
— " Old Mountaineer " and its Ed- 
itor — ^Moralizing — ^A Plea for Kiss- 
ing—Never Kiss and Tell— The 
Rough and Tumble Kiss — Some 
one to Love — Somewhat Singular 
— ^A Church — ^Letter to Miners — 
42. Outside Impressions of Cali- 
fornia — ^Telegraphic and Postal — 
More Water Wanted— First Cali- 
fornia Industrial £zhibition*-State 
Agricultural Fair — ^About going 
to Church — 86. Personal — ^Ad- 
vertisement Extra — ^Description of 
Love — ^Fatal Sport — Good Living 
— ^Letter to Miners, No. 2 — ^About 
" Keerds "—The Crazy Man and 
the Razor — ^137. Califomia — Hay- 
ing—Split in the Methodist Church 
— ^Law of the Finger Ring — ^Fe- 
male Mutabilily — ^Kissing by Post 
— " Don't Stay Long, Husband " 
Responses from the Mines, No. 2 — 
Love — " The Covenant" — Old 
Block— 184. Reply to Eugenia- 
Novel Lullaby for Sleep— Won't 
Have It — ^Let us go West — Jenny 
Kissed Me — The First Kiss— An 
Old Saw — Verdict of a Miner's 
Jury— 235. Jolly— Hard Times 
and Soft Spots — Motto for the 
Banks — Self-Sacrifices — Strange 
Story — Public Documents — ^Fast 
Eating— Help Wanted— Literature 
in Califomia — ^London Art Jour^ 



nal's Opinion of our Magazine — A 
Simile — Hope— Letter to Miners, 
Ko. 3 — Short and Spicy Articles 
-2S1. New Year's Visit— Snow 
Storm — Last of the Fillibosters — 
A Pretty Qood Joke— The Climate 
of California — ^Ladies' Home Mag- 
aiine — ^Mothers that are Wanted — 
Atlantic Monthly-— Music — Stars 
and Flowers — Graham's Magazine 
• Kissing— Fashionable Calls— Re- 
sponses firom the Mines, No. 3 — 
A ChaUenge — 328. You Can't 
Please Ererybody — Correspond- 
ence—How to Conduct a Maga- 
zine — Letter from "Old Moun- 
taineer" — Letter to Miners, No. 4 
Lire Sewing Machines Wanted — 
Pacific Medical and Surgical Jour- 
nal—Tacking Shipoff Shore-377. 
Nelan's Letter— " Notis " —Ans- 
wer tpM.— ChaUenge— Wife Mort- 
gaged — Enigma — Publishers of 
Country Newspapers — Responses 
from the Mines — ^Mrs. Metwith's 
Epistle to the Editor 427. Enyd- 
ops from Old Bloclc— Remarks from 
" Doings ''—National Wagon Road 
Guide— View of Grass Valley — 
Poems of Beranger— Enigmas and 
Answers — Hong Kong Monthly 
Maganne— Epistolary Rhyming- 
School Teachers— Adventure on a 
Dark Night— A Book Worm's Re- 
mark—I Hay'nt Time-474. Af- 
fecting Scene— Among the Sick- 
Toper's Soliloquy— Theatrical In- 
€ident0-621. "Labor," by Frank 
Soale — Joe Bowers' Wedding — 
New Contributor — " Must I Leave 
Thee, Paradiser— A "Nut" from 
an Up-€oantry Correspondent — 
Fashion — Extract from a Soul- 
Sdrring Bomanoe— To * * * — 566 
Fine Log Cxoeaing, (Illustration)... 100 
PUcer Mining 200 Tears Ago, (111.) 203 

inacerviBe^ (Illustration) 248 

Px>rand Proud. ^ 556 

Vfuarta SiCning, (Illustration).... •«... 146 

Quartz Mining 160 Years B. C 246 

Quartz Claiming 303 

Raffled Off.. 71 

River Mining, (Illustration) 97 

Relume the Wedded Lamp 452 

Sijenohope 17 

Stanzas on a Rose 36 

Shasta, (Illustration)....,......, 61 

Saw Mill Railroad, (Illusisration).... 62 
Snudggers' Investigations into Table 

Turning, (Illustration,) 65 

Salmon Lake 109 

San Francisco 221 

Stanzas 275 

Sing me that Song Again 448 

Stanzas 463 

Song 545 

The Redeemed Handkerchief. 23 

The Voice j)f a Spirit 34 

The Moral Heart of California 40 

The Old School House 65 

The Seat by the Cottage Door 70 

Three Tears in California 72 

The Rain Drop 80 

The Redeemed Handkerchief— Cont. 81 
The Sutter Creek Foundry, (Illus.). 100 
The Industrial Exhibition, (Illus.).. 102 
The Redeemed Handkerchief— Cont. 116 

The Harp 120 

Three Years in Califomia 121 

The Bleeding Heart 127 

The Stranger by the Wayside 135 

The Eagle and the Wren, (Illus.)... 155 
The Phlosophy of the Mechanics' In- 
stitute 158 

Three Years in Califomia — Cont 169 

The Evening Fireside 175 

The Redeemed Handkerchief—- Con- 
cluded 175 

The Discovery of Gold in California, 

(Illustrations) 193 

The First Egg. 203 

The Patter of the Rain 203 

The Three Graves 209 

Three Years in Califomia— Cont'd.. 216 

The Pioneers' Thanksgiving. 232 

The Lord's Prayer in Several Lan- 
guages. M 234 

The Califomia Quail, (lUustretion).. 241 



To Fannie 244 

Table Rock, Sierr^County, (lUus.). 245 
Tooth and Portion of Jaw Bone of an 

Extinet Animal, (Illustration) 248 

The Percassion Quartz Tailings 

Grindei^i (Illustraja^n,) 250 

The FaU Rivpr Waterfall, (lUus.)... 251 

The Cry of the Sp^t 256 

The Yankee; Urchin's Reply 267 

The Last Mktch 267 

Three Year$ in California — Con 271 

The History of a Letter, (Dlus.) 289 

Tehuantepec 308 

The Step 5|e8ide the Do^r 356 

The Spirit^ |iOd^..l....l 356 

To "Little Mary "L.; 362 

The Mother's of New England 369 

Tehuantepec, No. 2, (Illus.) 392 

The State Capitol at Sacramento, 

(Illustration) 385 

The Lakelet 400 

The Deserted Wife 400 

Telegram 407 

Three Years in California— Con 411 

The Giant Judge 423 

The Countess of Sai> Diego 452 

The Ocean Burial 464 

The Writing of the Universe 465 

The Common Rat 472 

The Songs of the Universe i. . 481 

The Last Bacchanalian .!., 447 

The Deathless Bfeart, ..: 500 

The Countess of San Diego — Con.... 504 

The Mother's Request 515- 

The Spectre 520 

Trip to Walker's River and Carson 

VaUey— Concluded 529 

Tehuantepec, (Illustrations) 539 

The Btoody Hand 559 

Valentine 352 

Vaca Valley, (Illustrations) 397 

Washington ;. 28 

What a Robbery 463 

Wolf 471 

Wives — ^their Variety , 617 

Where are the Forty-Niners 559 

Yomet, or Sounding Rock, (Illus.)... 208 


I. Hydraulic Method of Mining... 1 


Pan and Scoop; Prospecting; 
Shovel; Mexican Bowl; The 
Cradle and Manner of Using 
It ; The Long Tom ; Sluicing ; 
SInldng a Shaft ; Running a 
Tunnel ; Flaming in a Caflon ; 
Flaming over a Gforge 2 

3. Hammoth Tusk. 15 

4. Fire! in the City ; A Prairie on 

Hre ; Brannan En^e Com- 
pany; Running to the Fire 61 

5. Shasta 61 

6. Saw Mm Railroad 62 

7. Snadggens' Investigations with 

Table Turning 65 

^. RiTia MiKiNO : Fluming Scene 
on River ; Working out Riv- 
er's bed, 97 

9. 6ott«r Creek Foundry 100 

R Piiie Log Crossing 101 

II. Indostrial Exhidition 102 

\2. Cafifomians Throwing Lasso.... 104 
13. Saspension Flume across Brandy 

Gulch 105 

14 LakeBigler 107 

15. QuAXTZ Miking : Inside of 
Quartz Mill at Grass Yalle j ; 
Quarrying Quartz at the 
V«in ; Mexicans breaking the 
Quarts; Feeding the Mill; 
Washing the BUnkets ; The 
Mexican Rastra; The Chili 
Mill; The Improved Chili 

MiD 146 

'^\ The Eagle and the Wren 155 

*r. The Discovxbt of Gold in Cal- 
ttOKSiA : Portrait of General 
Jqo. a. Sufter; Sutter's Fort 
in 1848, and 1847 ; Auto- 







graph of General Sutter ; Sut- 
ter's Millf the Scene of the 

first gold discovery 198 

Placer Mining 200 years ago.... 205 

Yomes, or Sounding Rock...... 208 

California Quail: Male and 
Female ; Eggs ^of California 

Quail , 241 

Homes of Old Pioneers 243 

Califocnia Grapes 244 

Table Rock, Sierra County 245 

Home Manufactures 247 

Tooth and Jaw Bone of Extinct 

Animals 248 

Placerville 248 

Percussion Quartz Tailings 

Grinder *..■ 250 

The Fall River Water Fall 251 

HisToar of a Letter : Arrival 
of Steamer; Post Office and 
Custom House; Distributing 
the Mails; Newspaper Dis- 
tributing Table; Alcove of 
General Delivery ; Drop Bas- 
ket; "Rating the Letters"; 
^ Stamping" ; Making up the 

Mails 289 

Atlantic and Pacific Railroad... 300 
Overland for a Railway from 
THE Mississippi River : Fort 
Smith, Arkansas; Scene on 
the Canadian River ; Columns 
of Sandstone, on the South 
Bank of the Canadian River ; 
A Camanche Camp ; Zufti 
Sacred Spring; A Conical 
Hill, 500 feet high, in Laguna 
Colorado Valley ; Lava Bluff, 
on Bill WiUiams' Fork ; Val- 
ley of La CuestA, Rio Picos ; 
San Francisco Mountain; Val 



ley of 3iU Williams' Fork ; 
Camp Scene in the Mojave 
Valley of Rio Colorado ; Mo- 
jave Indians, Male and Fe- 
male ; Rio Colorado, near the 
Majave Villages, (from an is- 

Icmd looking north) 337 

32 The State Capitol 385 

33. The Exbcutivb and State Of- 

PiCERS : John B. Weller, Gov- 
ernor; Jos. Walkup, Lieu- 
tenant Governor ; Ferris For- 
man, Secretary of State; 
Thomas Findley, Treasurer; 
Thomas H. Williams, Attoi^ 
ney General; G. W. Whitman, 
Controller ; Andrew J. Moul- 
der, Superintendent of Public - 
Instruction ; Horace A. Hig- 
ley, Surveyor General 386 

34. Tehuaktepec: Zapoteco Women 

going to Market ; Front View 
of the Parroqui, a venerable 
Church built by Cocijopi, • 
Cacique of the Zapotecos, in 
the year 1530; Rude Cross 
and Offerings in the Woods of 
Tehuantepec 392 

35. Vaoa Valley 397 

36. MsKBERS OF California Sen- 

ate : Gilbert A. Grant, Josiah 

Johnson, J. H. Baker, Samuel 
B. Bell, Cameron E. Thorn, 
Rommugaldo Pacheco, Isaac 
Allen, John Chilton Burch, 
John Coulter, Eugene L. Sul- 
livan, Sam'l A. Merritt, Wm. 
Holden, S. F.Ham, E. Garter, 
A. R. Moloney, Samuel Soule, 
Humphrey Griffith, A. W. 
Taliafero, S. M. Johnson, 
James Anderson, L. N. Ketch> 
um, Wm. S. Lewis, W. T. 
Ferguson, Jesse O. Goodvnn, 
Geo. H. Rogers, T. S. Phelps, 
Gideon J. Carpenter...... 433 

37. View of Fort MiUer 440 

38. Brigham Young 485 

39. Reservoir of Tuolumne Water 

Company 492 

40. Farm House, Carson Valley 529 

41. Valley of Hot Soda Springs 532 

42. The Portal 533 

43. Piutt Indians Fishing 534 

44. Fording Walker's River 536 

45. An Ancient Stirrup 539 

46. Wall Enclosing an Ancient City 540 

47. Wild Fig Tree of Tehuantepec 541 

48. The "Para" of Tehuantepec... 543 

49. View from Tehuantepec City... 544 

50. Delightful Dream of Sprigging 574 




JULT, 1857. 



■dreot or the firet-rrnita of yoor 

kiodoeaa, ftod onr second Tolnme, 

mder, we may, perhspe, be per- 

1 to coDgratnlBte, and mj "Ood 

fC" to eKh other. Thus far we 

tnreled together over plain and 

I, meadoir and hill, among foreat 

and riunlM, aod wild4oirers of the 

laadscape of California expe- 

B. We tntit that our converM b; the 

te bMB to ttch othar'a hewt like 

alternsUDg sunlight and shadow to a beaa- 
tifal scene, gilding the sorrowful with hope, 
and shading the jo^rul with a common 
brotherhood and sympathy, for the nnfor- 

We hope that during the coming months, 
onr friendly interest in, and eommonion 
with each otiier, will be increased ; and onr 
presence become a welcome identity with 
every hoDsehold in oar Pacific State. 

It may be cheering ta our friends to 
know, that their words of kindoeea, and acts 
of co-operation, have crowned onr efforbi 
with anezpected success, so that now there 
is scarcely a glen or a Talley, a settlement 
or a camp, a town or a city, in California, 
where our Hagazioe does not find its way ; 
and thonsands every month are sent to 
distant fricDds, to give them greeting and 
remembrance. Gratitude for these con- 
tinually extending favors, will, we trust, 
nerve ns to freeb endeavors, to make the 
California Hagaxine in every way more 
worthy of the kind approval of the pabUo 
for the fatore ; itelieving it to be the 
cheapest publication on the Pacific coast, 
we are determined also, that it shall be 
among the beat. 



The reader, no doubt, well remembera 
the pecnliar imprecaions which the first 
tidings of the discoyery of gold in Cfclifbr- 
dU prodnoed npon his mind. How in every 
possible Wby the imagiQatioD industriously 
endeavored to picture the exhilarating 
scenes which Burroanded, and the pleasura- 
ble excitement which attended the enviable 
employment of digging for gold. What 
lucky TkIIows they must be, who, untram- 
meled by the com men-]: lace coDStraiot of 
ordinary basinet^s, coald, with tbeir own 
hands, take the precious melal IVom the 
earth, and in a few brief months, perhaps, 
by their own labor, become the fortunate 
possessors of sufficient wealth to make a 
whole lifetime happy for themselves and 
family, as well as uaefDl to others. 

What enchanting visions of the good to 
be accomplished — of the pleasores to be 


enjoyed — of the greatness to be achieved,— 
or the triumphs to be won, influenced his 
decision and turned his thotiffhts and foot- 
steps towards the I^nd of Gold. 

No wonder that his impressions were 
somewhat vague, and his knowledge limited 
and indeSoite; as but little was then 
known of the country, manner of living, the 
labor required, or methods in nse for work- 
ing the mines. Even to this day, with all 
that has been written, and all the pictorial 
illnsb«tions which have been published, 
those who have not actually visited the 
mines, have bnt a very incorrect cAnception 

of what they are, or how they are worked. 

We therefore believe that the reader — be. 

be ever so familiar with everything apptr- 

taining to mining and mining life — will be 
the better pleased should our drscriptioD of 
each and every method and implement be 
simple, and easy to be nnderstood. 

After the discovery of gold, by Jamea 
W. Marshall, at Sutler's Mill, on the South 
Pork of the American River, near Coloma, 
u the early spring of 1848, altho' the for- 
ests and glens were almost untrodden, and 
their stillness unbroken, except by wild 
animals, and Indians ; the " Prospector," 




bis pick or shovel apoo his shoalder, 
his pui ID his hand, aodhiskoife and trusty 
rerolTer in his belt aroand his waist, began 
to waoder among the hills, and up the 
rafines and gulches "prospecting " for gold. 

lo 1849 and 1850 it was verj common 
for small companies of men to start on a 
proepecting excarsion, with several days' 
proTisioDS, cooking atensils, blankets, tools, 
and fire-arms, at their backs ; and with this 
tmall mole-load, climb the most mirged and 
difficult moontains ; descend and cross the 
most rocky and daogeroos cafions ; endure 
&tigiie aod hardship ; and brave privation 
and peril almost entirely unknown at the 
preeeot time. 

Sometiroes it Is true an animal might be 
taken for that purpose ; but, if his neck 
was not broken, he was almost invariably 
the cause of more anxiety and trouble than 
o( comfort ; as men would often have to 
travel over snow, into which an animal 
would sink ; and cross an impetuous moun- 
tain stream upon a small pine, which, of 
ooorse, no animal would ever attempt; 
aod oould he have been induced to enter 
the stream for the purpose of fording it, the 
force of the rushing water would have 
tripped him off his feet and dashed him to 
pieces upon the rocks: so that the compa- 
ny's course had to be entirely changed, or 
the enterprise abandoned. 

At that period the precious metal was 
sappoeed to be found only in rivers, 
cafiona, gulches, or rayines; and, as the 
btter were the readiest prospected, and the 
eaaiest worked, and often paid very well ; 
they oflEered the most tempting inducement 
to the prospector ; and consequently, were 
the first places sought after and tested by 

Having arrived at a spot whidi looked 
inviting, and which he thought would 
" pay," down would go his pan and pick, 
or shovel, and after removing some of the 
Vioae mrth or stones which were lying on 
the top, he would commence making a 
asfl bole (generally about the sin of his 
kst!) in the lowett part of the ravine, from 

whence a panful of dirt would be taken, 
and washed ; and, if found to be rich, a 
" claim " or "claims" would be immediately 
staked off, aod a notice put up which gen- 
erally read as follows : 

" We, the undersigned, claim fifteen feet 
square (or other quantity mentioned) com- 
mencing at this stake, and running ujp this 
ravine to the oak tree with a notch tn tt. 



As somewhat illustrative of this rule 
among miners, we may mention that a short 
time ago, a stalwart son of the " Emerald 
Isle," was prospecting a ravine near Forbes- 
town, having obtained a dollar to the pan, 
and considering it a pretty good prospect, 
he concluded to " take up a claim " there ; 
but just as he was exulting over his good 
fortune, he espied a " notice " upon an old 
stump with the ominous words written 
thereon : '• We, the undersigned, claim, ^c, 
^rc, having duly recorded the same" " Ow 
the divil," he exclaimed, " how came ye 
there now ?" But as the notice returned 
him no answer, and as he saw some men 
working but a few yards below, he went to 
them with the inquiry — '*I say Misther, 
who onna thim claims 7" 

" We do," replied one. 

" Be gorrah thii^ ye hav no right to 

" Oh yes, we have a right to them, as we 
took them up, and recorded them, and have 
been working upon them all summer." 

*' Recarded thim I Ow the divil recard 
ye's! sure there's not an owld stoomp 
within five miles of Forbestown but what 
has a notice plasthered all over it as big as 
a winder, with < Recarded' in mighty fine let- 
ters all over the paper, from the top to the 
bottom. To the divil with ye's and the 
recarder too— the baist I" With this gen- 
erous wish and benediction, he walked away 
muttering—** The divil ' recard ' ye's." 

If, however, a good prospect was not 
obtained in the first panful of auriferous 
dirt, a second was seldom attempted by the 
prospector of 1848. 

Before leaving him, let us see how his 


iMoftd of dirt is washed — as the process of 
" panning oat ** is precisely the same now 
as it was then, and is an indispensable 
accompaniament to every method of gold 

Having placed his pan by the edge of a 
pool or stream, he takes hold of the sides 
with both hands, and squatting down lowers 
it into the water, then, with a kind of oscil- 
lating and slightly rotary motion, he moves 
it about beneath the sarfiioe for a few mo- 
ments, then, after drawing it to the edge of 
the pool, he throws oat the largest of the 
stones, and assists to dissolve the dirt by 
robbing it between his hands ; the washing 
is then repeated ; and, while the mnddy 
water and sand are floaty oat of the pan 
into the pool, the gold, if there is any, set- 
ties gradually to the bottom of the pan and 
is there saved. 

If a little only of very fine gold was 
foand, it was called in miner's phraseology 
" finding the color," and if from ten to 
twenty-five cents were foand to the pan, it 
was called " a good prospect." Now, how- 
ever, with improved modes of raining, 
and less extravagant expectations, from one 
to three cents is pronoanced "good pay 


The Mexicans and Chilians nse almost 
exclasively the bateaj or broad wooden 
bowl shown in the engraving above, instead 
of the pan. 

Next to the pan and bowl as implements 
for the more speedy separation of gold from 
the earth, the cradle or rocker holds an 
important place ; from the fact that it was 
the first appliance, superior to the pan 
osed with e£fect in all parts of the mines. 
Its size and weight rendering it portable, it 

was easily transferred from place to place* 
and even now is much in ose as a prospect- 
ing implement upon a scale more extended 
than can well be executed with the pan. 

Our description oi the cradle or rocker 
is this: an oblong box from three to 
three and a half feet in length, eighteen to 
twenty two inches in width, and about nine 
inches in depth at tJie upper end, with a 
bar across the middle ; one end of the box 
is left open or has no end board. There is 
no cover to the box or cradle ; bat a sepa- 
rate box, sieve, or hopper, is made to fit 
into and occupy the half of the cradle far- 
thest from the open or lower end; this 
hopper is about four inches in depth ; the 
bottom is of sheet iron, perforated with 
holes about three-eighths or half an inch 
in diameter, and one and a half inches 

Under the hopper and sloping downward 
toward the upper end of the cradle, is the 
dide or apron. This apron being somewhat 
hollow or concave on its upper side, and 
covered with canvass, retains much of the 
fine gold that falls upon it. 

Bookers are attached to the under side 
of the whole, quite similar to those of a 
child's cradle ; near the middle an upright 
handle is attached, by which motion is 
given to it. 

The hopper being nearly filled with 
auriferous earth, the operator being 
seated by its side, while rocking the 
cradle with one hand, he dips and ponrs 
on water with the other, from an adja- 
cent pool or rivulet, using a half gallon 
tin dipper for the purpose. 
The water dissolving the earth, it falls 
through the sieve upon the sloping apron, 
which conveys it to the u] per end of the 
bottom of the cradle. On this bottom, 
about the center, is a '' rifi3e-bar " placed 
crosswise, and one a little deeper at the 
lower end ; and while the lighter sand and 
dirt passes over them with the water, the 
gold, by its greater weight, is retained by 
them, and thus kept from passing oat at 
the lower end. 



The eouw stones aod gntvel remsiDiD^ 
it the hoppa kfter the water runs clear we 
tkn thrown oat, the hopper replaced sod 
ndlled, and the process repeated. As ofteo 
u is oece*tatj, the aprun, riffle-ban, and 
botton are cleaned of the sand and gold 
that haa concentrated npon them ; the 
larger portion of the fine gold, being gen- 
Rally foond npoD the canTaas of the apron. 

nm cradle, tboogh still eztenaivel; used 
bj the Chinese throoghoot the mines, has 
irifen wa; among Americans, and the 
Kote enterprising clan of nineTt, to more 
nnmary methods for separating the gold 
froia tbe paj-dirt ; ilansebeingSBperaeded 
bj Car mm efficient implements ; and among 
iWm, B« next in importance to the cradle, 
■M intradaoed the " Loog-Tom." 

It wa« not long after tbe pan and cradle 
nte in geoend ase, that it became apparent 
thtf MB more expeditioos mode was 
reqaind fbr washing the gold from large 
qaaatitiea of earth. Men were not satisSed 
nth the ihnr, one man system, the nse of 
F«a Of enUe ; bat somethiog most be done, 
Boae iotentioD made of an implement b; 

ise of which the united efforts of indi- 
Tidaals, SB companies, coald be madeaTail- 
able and profitable. 

To snppl; this want, the wits and inge- 
nuity of the earlier miners soon bronght ont 
the " long torn." eiceedingl; primitive in 
its first iucpption sod form it is true, bnt 
proving so effective in its operations, it was 
soon greatly improved npon, and at length 
became the indispensabte implemeot in the 
bands of companies of from three to five 
men in proeecating their gold washing 

From the primitive toms, which were bnt 
trongbs hollowed oat Trom the half tmnka 
of pine trees, they soon assumed the pro- 
portiooB and shape of the neatly constructed 
torn of sawed lumt»er and sheet iron of the 
present day. 

The torn varies much in size, depending 
on tbe nainber of men intending loose 
it. It is an oblong box or troogh abont 
twelve feet in length, open at the tap and 
nsually at both ends ; bat alwajs at the 
lower end. It is abont eight laches in 
depth, and at the apper end from one foot 
to two feet in width ; bnt increaung to 
nearly donble that width at the middle, 


from Ihence ita sides are parallel to the 
lower end. The boitom of this broad por- 
tion for a distaoce of from three to sis feet 
from the eod, is made of strong, perforated 
sheet iron, in ever; respect sirailar to the 
neve or bopper of the cradle, but of much 
heavier iron. The torn is not straight upon 
ils bottom the whole leoglh ; bat the sheet 
iron pMtion is turned npwHrd m it ap- 
proaches the lower end, bo that the depth 

of the torn ia dimioisbed at that^ad to less 
than three inches. The object of this is 
that the water ma; all pass Ihrongh the - 
seive or l«m-irOD without roDoiDg over the 

Under this perforated iron portion is 
placed a riffle box, similar in principle to 
the bottom of a cradle ; but larger, and 
aliko with the torn, alwajs to remain sta- 
tionar^ or immovable while in use. 

The tom is now placed in a proper posi- 
tion, having rcftrence to the dirt to be 
wahbed, general); as near the gronod as 
possible to admit of the " taiUngs " pass- 
ing off freely. The riffle boi ia first fiied 
in proper position, then the iron-bottomed 
portion of the tom placed over it, with its 
open or narrow end several inches the high- 
est. Water is now let on, either in open 
tronghs of wood, or through canvass hose, 
which by its force, carries the dirt when put 
in, down the tom ; and while two or more 
men are employed shoveling the dirt into 
the tom at the upper end, one man at the 
side of the lower end, with hoe or shovel in 
hand, receives the dirl as brought down by 
the water ; and after being violently stirred 
and moved about npon the perforated iron 
bottom until all has passed through it that 
will, the residue of stones and coarse gravel 
is thrown out by the shovel. 

The manner of saving the gold by the 
riffle box, is precisely the same in principle 

as that of the cradle, with this advantage 
over it ; that the falling of stream;' of water 
throngh the tom iron serve to keep the 
sand npon the bottom of the riffle box 
stirred np and loose, permitting the pold 
the more easily to reach the bottom, where 
it is retained by the riffle bars ; while the 
lighter matter, sand and pebbles, pars off 
with the water and is calkd " tailings." 

Sometimes tliirty or fifty feet or more of 
sluice boxes are attached to the torn at the 
□pper end, and the dirt is shoveled in along 
the whole length, to be carried down to the 
tom by the force of the water, there to re- 
ceive ils final stirring ap. 

Toms are particularly adapted to nearly 
level gronndi', or where there is not suffi- 
cient tall to admit of the still more efficient 
mode of gold washing with sluices. 

This is a mode of mining particnlarly 
adapted to those localities where it becomes 
desirable to wash large qnantitiea of dirt. 


■iJei of tbeae trongha are wcorei] from 
qtrnfog hj ckftts railed acrou the top ; 
ud froD pptiuiog at the bottom, by umi- 
Iw ekaU on thfl aoder Bide. 

A contiDanoa line or tbene trongha or 
'iliice boiei," the RmalleT and lov^ end 
<' Mch, imerted Tor three or foar iochcs 
nlo the laifrer end of the next oae below, 
^ the *■ ilaice," aod being placed apon i 
[^ Kroand or other sa[i{)orU, with a proper : 
"•wait; the diit, by whaterer mode is, 
■^tol to remove it thereto, and into the . 
*!<»«. tither by ibOT^ng, or the JMwer of 
>he hydnaKc a» herearier detcribed, is, by 
tbtbrttofalmrger body of water than ib 
*"•% Qsed in tommiofc, conTeyed throngh 
• mntinaoni line of rrnm Qlly to teveral 
hudrtd feet in length, aod when the de- 

Bcent IB Bofficient, (he whole mass of dirl, 
from the finest particles, to slonps and 
bonlders of four or five inches in diwneter, 
go rattling down by tlieir own gravity and 
the force of the water, the entire length of 
the sluice. 

Where the descent is no' qnite mlficicnt 
for this, forks and shovels are a^ along 
the sluices to loowo up and finally to throw 
ont such of the larger stone* Mid tocks as 
the water e&nnot force tbrongh them ; ae 
shown in the engraving. 

There are different appliances attached 
to the bottoms of these sloices, inside, for 
the pnrpoee of saviDg or catching the gold 
in its paaiage down the sluice, rach u 


rifBw of » greftt rkriet/ of pattern, and 
f ge bolioms, perromted or split in piece», 
the interstices of which ar« tdmirably 
adapted to the laTlng of fine gold. 

These slnicee ftre sometimes " mn, 
it is tenned, for manj day h tOfcether before 
" cleatiiog ap ; " when this is done the bise 
bottoDH or riffles are remoTed, the sluices 
" washed down," and the gold secuTcd bf 
being carefully snvpt duwD the whole 
length of the sluice into a pan, to be more 
Ihnroagbly cleaned by " panning out." 

This is doubtless of all others the most 
I'ipedilione mode of mining or separating 
!be gold from the dirt that has yet been 
discovered, and where it can be adopted is 
duDbtless the best. 

Among the more important operations 
coDoected with gold mining npon an exten- 
sire scale, is " ground siniclDg." Localities 
are often foand in which the largest por- 
tioD of the gold lies npon, or near the "bed 
ruck ; " above which may rest a depth of 
earth of many feet, containing do gold, or 
ao Email a quantity compared with tbe 
mass of dirt, that it would not pay either 
to wash in sloiccs or for the es|:ense of re 

moval in any oth^ way than by gronnd 

The prindple of the operation b this ; a 
bank of earth is selected which it is desired 
to rednce or wash away, down to the pay 
dirt ; a stream of water is conducted thereto, 
at 80 bigb a level as to contmand it; a 
small ditch is then cut along the portion to 
be gronnd slaioed, tbe water tamed od> 
and then any number of bands with jHcka 
and shovels either npon the edges of the 
ditch or by getting directly into the stream 
of water, pidt away and work down the 
banks and bottom, to bo dissolved and cu'- 
ried away by tbe water, while the gold that 
may be contained in it, settles down with- 
out b«r)g conveyed or lost, to be finally 
saved by being passed tfarongh the or^nary 

When the process is solely tor the por- 
poee of removing the top strata of earth in 
which no gold or pay dirt is found, dowD 
to that which will pay, it is called " atrip- 
ping," by gronnd sluicing. Often however 
I no piiy h expected from the strippicig 
as, the miner is unexpectedly cheered 
by finding in the lap dirt mare gold than 
suEGcient to pay all tbe expeoHes of the 




Tlw miiitDg regioa of California in ita 
phjiic»l coDfonmtioD is made up to a 
ptat extent of immeiHe ridges and M\», 
■rilli ^cfaea ud rannea inlerreaiDg, and 
ill doderlaid bj what is mnallf termed the 
■ bed rodt." In very many places this bed 
rock Mmmei npon ita nirbce the fonn of 
buins deep beDe»th the great earth ridges, 
ud tlteM bWDt are freqn^itlj foiuid to be 
uceediogi J rich in their golden deposits. 

To re*ch the bed rock in these poeitiODs, 
t*o netboda ate adopted ; " sinking thafts " 
lod "rnniuiv taonels." 

To "nnk a shaft" — a shaft tKing a 
popeodicntar opening in ihe earth nsoallf 
from four to six feet in diameter — the same 
meaos and appliances are ordinarily used 
M in sinklog a deep well ; which in bet it 
Boch RMmbles, except that it is seldom 
walled ap as wella are, nor ig water deaired 
ia tlMU ; hot which nnlaekily too often 

Sametimes a " streak " or stfata of pay 
dirt is reached, before arrJTing at the bed 
rock, and is termed a " lead." When the 
lead ia followed horisontally to the right or 
left from the shall, it is termed " drifting ; " 
and when the bed roek is reached, if opera- 
tions are continued they are all done by 

The pay dirt ia raised to the surface by 
the B&me means that are used in sinking 
the shaft, the principal of which ia, the 
windlosB and backet, or tab. Sinking 
ahafta ia often performed, solely with the 
view of prospecting, in the cheapest and 
most expeditiouB manner, the bed roek, 
before proceeding to the greater expense, 
but more efficient mode, of working these 
deep hill chums by " tanneling." But this 
is not always the case ; for ahafu are aomo- 
timea annk upon flats, to a great depth, and 
the entire process of mining out all beaesth, 
condacted through the ahafi ; in aid of 
which, steam engines are often employed. 

ToBDetaareiiBOally commenced upon hill- 
Edes, or near the bottom of gnlchea and 
rariiMS and are ran in neiriy horizontal. 
t'o Mst idng at the sorlace apon the proper 
krel, or what i« snppoeed will prove to be 
the proper level, when the. baa'n of the bill 
or pajiirt is reached, an open cnt ia first 
vade Sto the hill, until a sufficient depth 
is attained to enable the tnnnel to be com- 
■WLuil, with enough of earth or ro^ ovee- 

head to snstain itself in the fbrm of an 
arch, or if of earth only and inclined to 
cave in, then to be supported by "timber- 
ing " at a height scarcely sufficient to clear 
a tall man's head when standing npright. 

The tunnel is now commenced, andnsnally 
from five to seven feet in width. When 
only earth and detaclied atonea or boulden 
are met with, it often becomea necessary to 
" timber up," as the tnnnel progresMS ; 
which is done by setting strong poets about 




three fcet apart od each side, and opporite 
to each other ; and thcae eapporting a cross 
timber above, and oa these one or more 
pluik are laid which aapport the roof; 
sides are Dccessarilf planbed 

Id very man; instances the tnDDcl is 
~ driTcD " by picking and bhutiog tbrongh 
lolid bed-rock manj hnndred feet io length, 
iRjairiDg a great expenditnre of time, labor, 
BDwj. and peneveniDce. To conve; from 
the tonnet, (be excavated portioos of rock, 
RMMS. and earth, the. wheelbarrow was 
fjnMrij in general nae, and is even now in 
maaj places ; bnt with (be more systematic, 
a narrow rsil-road is eonstmcted as the 
work progrenes, on which is ran a luitable 
ear. tbe bottom of the taonel having the 
Decenary f^rade to enable a loaded car to 
be p^elled outwardly easily by man 

Wben the pay dirt ia reached, a division 
ta Bade of tbe exaraced portioD on being 

brooght oDt, into that which is, and is not, 
pay dirt, and as often as expedient when 
water is proonrable, it is washed byslnicing 
in tbe usual manner. 


Only those who are familiar with tbe 
physical formation of tbe monntain and 
gold region of California, hare anything 
like an adeqnate idea of the vast amoant of 
labor expended, in the construction of the 
artificial water-courses that supply onr 
mioiog canals and ditches with water from 
tbe moantain streaniB. 

To hear of the conetraction of a handred 
miles of mining ditub, conveys but a feeble 
conception of the magniiude of the enter- 
prise, or the ditBcultiea to be overcome. 
Tbe mountain country th)m which the sup- 
ply of water is obtained, does not consist 
of slope npon slope, or of Bucceasive tables 
of comparatively level land, and rising one 
above another ; but from tbe foot hills, tbe 



mountains riae to the height of from seven 
to nine thousand feet, in one nninterrapted 
succession of immense ridges, lying in every 
conceivable direction and position, with 
intervening gorges or eafions of corres- 
ponding depth ; and by this we mean, of 
very great depth ; many of the mountain 
streams occupying and rushing down eafi- 
ons, whose sides are almost perpendicular 
walls of rock, and often three thousand feet 
or more in height, and along which the 
pedestrian can only make his way for a 
hundred yards together, by taking to the 
bed of the stream. 

It is from such eafions, that the water w 
mostly obtained for the supply of our 
mining canals and ditches ; and it is not 
unusual that from three to ten miles of 
wooden flame is required at the upper end., 
before the water can be brought out of the 
cafion sufficiently high to oretop or com- 
mand the ridges and foot hills of the lovrer 
country, in which the mines and placers are 
principally found. 

To lift as it were, the waters from these 
deep eafions, or rather to convey them at a 
fall of from five to tweuty feet to the mile, 
out of them, often requires many miles ot 
flume constructed entirely of wood, because 
the steep sides have not, in many places, a 
single inch of earth in which to excavate a 
ditch ; and even the rocky sides often so 
high and steep as to require the flume to be 
constructed upon trestle work, a hundred 
or more feet in height ; and even' in some 
instances actually suspended by iron work, 
upon the smooth face of almost overhanging 
rock and preci])ioes ; the workmen are let 
down and suspended by ropes from above, 
while prosecuting their arduous labors. 

Then again, the flume is made to span a 
vast gorge sometimes, and in places sup- 
ported by timber work from beneath ; at 
others, by suspension from the sides ; and 
in its tortuous course, running up and 
crossing adjacent gporges, perhaps to take 
in the waters of some small tributary, and 
then again heading for and coursing along 
the great main cafion, leaping as it were, 

fh>m point to point of jutting crag and 
cliff, till at last it reaches the more earthy 
side or summit of the ridge, there to be at 
once used for gold washing, or milling pur- 
poses, or conveyed by ditches in countless 
ramifications to the lower mining world ; 
and these enterprises constitute the great 
fulcrum of our mining prosperity. 



By far the most efficient system of min- 
ing yet known, for hill diggings, is the 
hydraulic ; for the discovery of which Cal- 
fornia is indebted to Mr. Edward £. Matt- 
eson, formeriy of Sterling, Windham 
County, Connecticut. Through the kind- 
ness of Mr. Cloud of Omega, Nevada 
County, we are enabled to present our read- 
ers with the likeness of Mr. Matteson, the 
discoverer, engraved from an excellent Am- 
brotyp^ by Mrs. J. F. Rudolph, of Nevada. 

Mr. M. first commenced the use of this 
method at American Hill, Nevada, in Feb- 
ruary, 1852, and such was the success at- 
tending its operation that others around 
him immediately began to adopt it ; and 
it is now in general use throughout the 
mining districts of the State. 

The large and accurate engraving on 
another page, from a beautiful ambroty, e 
by Messrs. £. B. & D. H. Heudoe, will 
give to the reader an excellent and correct 
idea of its manner of working and ap 

Water being conveyed as before des- 
cribed, by canals and ditches, around and 
among the hills and mountain sides where 
mining is carried on, it is thence distribu. 
ted from the main canal by smaller ditches 
to the mining claims requiring it 

Here it is run from the small ditch into 
a trough fixed upon tressel work, which is 
often technically termed the '* Hydraulic 
Telegraph" ; or, run in heavy duck hose 
upon the ground, to the edge of th^laim, 
thence over the edge and down the almost 
perpendicular bank .to the bed rock, or bot- 
tom of the claim, where it lies coiled about 



n tht rocfc mod dirt like ft huge serpent, i 
Ai the oppFT end of tlM hooe is mach larger ' 
thu the lower eod, the water mnDiog in, 
kcepa it ftiU to the very top; and the 
niglit or this water, escaping throogh a 
P9e attached to tlie low^ end of the hose, 
in a liiDilar manner to that of a Sre eogioe, 
plajt apon the back with gr«t fbroe and 
Act, wadiiog it rapidly awaj. 

There are sometinKa stratu of gravdlj 
<BMfit in the bMik which are exceedingly 
haid and difficnlt to wash away, even with 
the iHinenM force given bj the weight of 
tnn Vtj to two hundred and twenty feet 
of Ul, whkh the water contained in the 
hott receitca froni above* 

TV moat efSctent maooer of washing 
dawn these hanks is by ODdermining them 
mt Ihe bed rook, when large ma^as frfr 

qoently many tons in weight — "cave down" 
and not only break themselves to pieces by 
the &1I, bat aDfortonately often bury the 
too Tentaresomc miner beneath them. It 
is in this kind of mining so many accidents 
have occorrtd ; and when we read in the 
Dewapapers of the day that Hr. so and eo 
was badly injared — or killed — by the " cav- 
ing of a bank," we may know it la gen- 
erally in SDch places. 

ir the reader will please refer to the m- 
graving he will see a stream of water 
running over the bank, which is often re- 
quired eSectoally to cleanse and remove the 
large qoantities of earth and rocks washed 
down by the pipe, and convey them to the 
sloice, down which they pass, and in which 
the gold is principally saved, olthongh large 
amounts of the golden dnst lie among the 



earth and stones, but a few feet from whence 
they we^re washed. 

After " pleaning ap" the rock and ** wash- 
ing down" the slnioe, the precioos contents 
are swept into a pan where they are care- 
fully panned ont. After the day's work is 
done the miner repairs to his cabin to baild 
his fire, cook and eat his snpper, dry his 
dost, and blow out the black sand. 

Sometimes when a man has been covered 
np by the bank falling upon him, not only 
the stream generally used in the claim, 
but ofcen the entire contents of the ditch 
are thus turned on, and with the assistance 
of every miner who knows of the accident, 
it is used for sluicing him out> and which is 
by far the speediest and beet method for his 

One becomes surprised when looking at 
the bold defiant strength of a miner's will 
and purpose, and the risk he so often runsi 
that comparatively so few accidents of this 
kind occur. By care, however, this branch 
of mining can be conducted with the same 
safety as any other. 

The '* hydraulic process" removes and 
washes immense masses of earth that would 
otherwise be useless and its working un- 
profitable, thus making it not only one of 
the most useful and efiectual, but almost an 
indLspeosabte method of mining for gold 
in Oalifornia. 


In the beds of nearly all the rivers that 
traverse the gold region of California, 
deposits of gold have been found, many of 
them exceedingly rich ; and large ezpendi- 
tureff have been made in order successfully 
to work these *' river claims." 

Oftentimes the entire water of the river 
is turned into new channels, generally con- 
sisting of flumes of wood, built along the 
banks. A dam is constructed that turns 
the water into the flume, and being con- 
veyed, often many hundred yards, is turned 
into the river bed again below. The water 
that remains is then pumped out, and 
usually, by the power obtained from wheels 

acted upon by the water in its rapid pas- 
sage through the flume. 

The bed of the river by this means ren- 
dered dry or nearly so, the sand and gravel 
down to the bed-rock is then washed by 
either of the usual modes, with pan, cradle, 
tom, or duice. 

In a fiiture number, we shall give engra- 
vings illustrative of river and quartz 
mining ; the latter, having within the last 
two years, assumed an importance that 
entitles it to a more extended notice and 
space in our columns, than can well be 
devoted to it in this number. 



She went to the radiant mansions afar, 
The robes of the khigdom to wear ; [star 
And I think that the angels who dwell in the 
Have twined a green wreath in her hair. 

Not lonff on oar shore did the child-pilgrim 
Amid all our sorrow and sin ; [wait. 

For gently they opened a beautiful eate, 
And said to her soul " welcome in. 

The leaves of the summer were fresh on the 

The primrose was bright in its bloom, 
Waxen-like daisies were thick on the leas. 
And winds were all breathing perfume ; 

When suddenly over her beautiful eyes, 
There closed <n>wn the fringed lids of snow ; 
The angels were singing far up in the skies. 
And so she was ready to go : 

Away in a lonely and beaiitiful vale, 
We faid down our darling to rest ; 
Cross'd as in prarer were 3ie hands milky pale, 
0*cr the burial flbwers on her breast. 

The swee^ golden robin goes there, and sings. 
In the hush of the bright morning houn : 
And a rose tree above, her soft fragrance flings. 
And covers the spot with pale flowers. 

Ah not with the tears that are vain ones and 

Remember her earth vanished bloom. 
But think that it is not the soul of your child 
Hid in the cold clasp of the tomb : 

Remember she went to her home in the sky 
The robes of the kingdom to wear. 
And TB when the shtulows of life hare gone by 
Mo3f iMi< »K^ ^ bemOifiU thtnl 





The mbore engraving repreeente a 
remarkable toBk of solid iyory, eleven feet 
nine inches in length, and* twenty- fonr and 
a half inches in circomference, at the base. 
It vat foaod during the month of Septem- 
ber, l€b4, by a Get man miner n8m<d Geo 
Keller, while working on Canal Gnleh, near 
Yreka, Siskiyon county, firmly imb< dded 
in water-washed gravel, aboat twenty feet 
from the surface. 

We taw a portion of this immense tnsk, 
in a cabin adjoining the claim where it was 
d isco f e r ed , daring the month of Febmary, 
1H,55, and which, aithongh somewhat injar- 
cd by its exposure to the air, still showed 
iu ivory grain very distinctly. This piec^ 
—aboat two feet in length — we had the 
corioaity to measw^, and though only a 
midifle portion of the to(>k, was eighteen 
and three quarter inches in circamferenoe 
at the one end, and seventeen and five- 
eights inches at the other. 

We sappoee the above remarkable relic 
of ft bye-gooe age and generation most 
helong to the Megatherinm, a genus of the 
eztiDct Bdentata, which has for many years 
engaged the attention of the most eminent 
professors of Geology and anatomy. 

South America, and particularly in 
and about the neighborhood of Buenos 
Ayres, has Ibmished indubitable evidences 
that there once existed immeose nnmbera 
of the Maounalia class of animals, now 
ibering comparatively few. Many mu- 
have been lately enriched with this 
uoee dread animal's fossil remune, which 
were fbmerly only to be found in the mnse- 
ma of Madrid. They were sent over to 
Earope in 1789, and afforded Guvieran 
oppQrtmity to determine the affinities of 
this wmderftil creature. Tb/eif 

covered southwest of Buenos Ayres, on the 
river shore of thQ Luxon. • 

Of later date, nearly a complete skeleton 
of one, was fount} in the bed of the river 
Salado, south of the Pampas, near the same 
city. During a long drought, of almost 
three years, it had become dry, and one 
Don Soza called the attention of Sir W. 
Parish, F. G. S., then H. M. Char^ d'Af- 
fairs at this place, to this extraordinary dis- 
covery of some large bones found imbedded 
in the sand. An account of this was given 
in the ** Lcmdon Penny Cyclopedia," May 
29, 1839. 

There is one of the finest specimens in 
the world, to be seen in the , British Mu- 
seum, set up I believe by Professor Man- 
ton. This is nearly seventeen feet in 
height, and as many in length. Were the 
above specimen less curved, it would have 
doubtless belonged to the Mastadon max- 
imus, a full acoountof which is recorded in 
the American Quarterly Journal of Agri- 
culture and Science. 

These animals the Megatherium and 
Mastadon, most have been most extraerdi«> 
nary. The bones of their skulls wore of 
enormous sise, and the tusks that issued 
from them, must have been levers, suffi- 
ciently poweriiri to uproot and lay pros- 
trate, trees some four feet in circumference, 
on which they might fill their capacious 
maws to satiation. They are both suppos- 
ed to have been herbivorous ; from the ap- 
pearances of their tusks, the Mastadon 
more especially, and from a remarkable 
matter found connected with one of the 
skeletons. In the midst of the ribs, there 
was seen a mass of matter composed appar- 
eatly of twigs of trees, in small pieces 
about two inches long, of different diame- 
ters, from the smallest sise to half an inch. 
Mixed with these, were four or five bosheb 



of a finer v^etable sabstance, like finely 
diyided leaves, some in whole pellets, some 
in broken pellets, some within tiie lower 
part of the ribs, some without, plainly 
shovring the food upon which the animal 
Ityed. The estimated weight of this ani- 
mal, is twenty thousand pounds. 
■ Next to the tusks of these won^fhl go^ 
mandizers, their teeth excite our unqual- 
ified surprise. These have given name 
to one kind, — ^the Mastodon, — which, in 
Greek, signifies tnkaU JhM and tooth; the 
Megatherium~(?r6itf WHd Beast. 
The Megatheriam is supposed to have had 
the head and shoulders similar ta those of 
the sloth, and from the length and number 
of the vertebrae of the neck, many imagine 
that it could have had no tusks of the size 
attributed to it ; but when we consider that 
the ponderous size of the connected shoul- 
ders, legs and claws, could never have allow- 
ed of any active habits ; but like the sloth, 
only moving from- one location to the other, 
after it had devoured the entire herbage of 
the full grown trees it might have felled, the 
conclusion would be otherwise. The weight 
of the antlers of many deer compared with 
the structure of the vertebrae of the neck, 
aflfbrds a good argument agi^nst such an 

Both these creatures must have been 
most unwieldy and uncouth living masses ; 
and their forms of the most forbidding and 
loathsome aspect. The history of the 
discovery of their remains, Would well re- 
pay tho curious reader, and to such we 
would recommend, for his perusal. The Fo^ 
tU Mammalia, of Prof , Owen, — Dr. Buck- 
land's Bridgewater Treatise, — Sir fT. Par- 
rish's Buenos Ayres ; and, in a more com- 
pendious form, — Comstock's Elements of 


Everybody believes in children — Ood 
bless them — being well educated. Every- 
body says " yes — certainly" when yon point 
out the advantages and pleasures of a 
good education. "I had rather go without 

— well, almost anything" earnestly avers 
the unselfish and affisctionate parent " than 
either of my children should be without a 
good education." That's right, say we, 
your heaf t is evidently in the right place ; 
education is a good thing — ^it is even better 
than some people by their actions allow it 
to be ; and next to a good strong mind in 
a healthy body, it is, in our estimation, the 
best blessing that a parent can bestow upon 
a child. How carefully then should the 
labors of the school-room be seconded and 
assisted by the co-operation of the home 
circle? — ^notin the cultivation and eleva- 
tion of the mind obly, but in the nobler 
and most r^ning impulses and aspirations 
of the heart. 


SuggetUd hg tthite /hwers growing m the Ctmeterw ^ 


Fair flowen that dwell 
In niowy yestare here betide the tomb, 
Your white leaTes bear no ibadowy tint ofiloom. 

Of the dark grare to telL 

And your pure breath. 
Borne on the air that lingen here to play, 
Brings in its^weetneat no dread thought of death, 

Ko wliisper of decay. 

Like lorely dreami 
Bom gnddenly amidst the blank of sleep, 
Filled with a meaning spirit-Toiced and deep. 

Here yoor strange preaanoe seems. 

Why do ye rise. 
So lone and lorely firom this deeert Mnd t 
Amidst the graves, ye white-robed ones, why stand 

With faces to the skies t 

In this sad spot, 
Has Nature placed these shining ones to glow 
Like stars of hope, in mockory of woe. 

Where human hope is not t 

Or does she seek, 
Bj many a gentle hint around us throws, 
Than ours a higher wisdom to make khown. 

In love divine to speak t 

Kevkb bb DisooyBAOKD. — Many a man* 
''the lend " of whose claim, apparently, had 
** run out " one day. has " struck it " again , 
the next ; — ^whereas had he either sold or 
abandoned it then, another, probably, would 
have reaped the reward of his labor. One 
oftea w( rks within three inches of a fortune* 




IT O. H A RB T R. 

I<ovc!y Sijcnophc ! 

Beautiful maiden, 
Fiur amonor maidens was she. 
Uor world was an Aiden, 
Ero the 8j>oilcr came laden 
With poison and flame — 
Ere cold-hearted falsity. 
Cloaked in base falsity. 
Aroused in her bosom 
The li^crm of that blossom 
That bloomed to her shame. 
Not a clond had her skies — 
Oh ! bow bri^^ht were her eyes. 
How sweet waa her smile ! 
For the heart knew no guile, 
Ere the nabtile one came. 
Beainin«^ with'yonthfulness, 
<«ailcle5fl, all trnthfalness, 
To goodness inclined. 
How g}iy woru the sports 
Of youns thonghts that held courts 
Id the halls of her mind ! 

Never once fearfully, 
Tni^tingly, cheerfully, 

Game out her spirit. 
From peaceful retreat. 
Like Heaven, or near It, 
At morning to meet 

One unworthy to share it : 
One who dn^bed at the feet, 

Of the statue of stone — 

Humanity, statue of stone — 
The pure heart that beat 

For the spoiler alono. 
Ob ! wliat were defence, 

'Gainst the heartless pretender, 
If maid(*nty innocence 

Could not defend her. 

Now, for one rudeness 

S<^med, discarded, 
Everr soodness 

AH disregarded, 
Unh'vrd in a strange land, 

Sijenophe cries : 
SfeOer ! thy helping hand, 

Aid roe to rise ! 

Sh^ hath borne her, 

Thfon«rh deep sorrow ; 
Who won Id vt)m her 

Sorrow borrows. 
E'fB below her. 

Some despise her, 
B«t who know her 

Moat, ahall priia k«r. 
For put weakness, 

Tboagh few mooni her, 
Still her sneekiieft, 

MoJt adorn her. 


I gaze on her eyes, — 
What eloquence under 

The raven lash lies ! 
There a spirit that feels, 

The slanderer'i* art, 
The glance half reveals, 
Through the fringe that conoea\<i. 

Oh ! who with a heart, 
Could resist their appeals ! 

In the woodland, 

Drooped a sweet flower. 
Crushed by rude hands 

In its bright hour. 
Like that blossom. 

Crushed, heart-broken, — 
In her bosom, 

All faith shaken ; 
None to chcrisli. 
Must she perish — 

Must she shiver 'i 
In the pittiless cold. 
Of her story often told, 

All forsaken, 
Oh I forgive her ! 

In this cold world, 

Ah, wherefore deeper. 
So oft is hurled, 

The gentle weeper! 
Oh, that woman, 

Will not list her 
To her human, erring suter! 
Shall her human 

Faults outlive her, 
€rentle woman, 

Do forgive her I 

Think of her confidence. 

Wronged and betrayed. 
Think of her penitence — 

Can yon upbraid ? 
Thoughts of wronged innocence. 

Burn in her brain. 
Tears of true penitence. 

Fall like the rain ; 
Tears of such rarity, 
Cannot their pnrity 

Wash out the stain ? 
Look on meek loveliness, 
Drooping in wretchedness — 

Can you di«idain ? 
Hast thou no sin. 

Could bring distress ? 
Be woman, in 

Thy tenderness. 
Ere throw the stone, 

Of condemnation, 
Think of your own 

Seek not to discover. 

From whence she came. 
Think not thou *n above her. 

Though lowly her name. 
One error look over,— 
la pit/ look orer,-^ 



Seek nut to clcfimc ; 
liCt charily cover, 

Uur blushes of shame. 
Only know, in her blindness, 

A vietim she fell, 
Only know that your kindneas, 

Her ;;rief msiy dispel ; 
Only know you have power, 
To exalt or dej^rade, 
And ;^oo(l angels eaeh hour, 

Wait to eredit vour aid. 


** M ard r most flml, as io the best it Is ; 

Itat this iiifiHt Tuul, st'a> ge. and unnstarn].'* 
** Bl'MKi hath f*t aii-c organs t>i Oiscvrarse withal » 

It is a i'lHrn'rituH orator, Hnd 'bon 

Kv'n n iture wi 1 oxci cd he seJf, to tell 

A ciliue, »u thwattiiiK uatare." 

I don't belicTe in spectres, ghdsts or 
goblins, — never did : for it was n't the 
way I was brought up. I was always 
taught to believe they were but idle 
fancies, or phantasms of the mind ; so 
that I am not going to insist upon it 
that a spectrin, or ghost, played any 
part in the drama of a night of horror 
to which I was witn&ss ; not only my- 
self, but my two comrades, and both 
as reliable, on the score of veracity, as 
I c!aim to be myself, and to whom I 
am permitted to make reference. 

I shall only relate the circumstances 
— what we saw and heard — ^leaving it 
to the reader to account for the occur- 
rences as he pleases. 

We were on a trip along the Sacra- 
mento river and its numerous sloughs, 
in pursuit of water-fowl. Our sailing 
erafl, a very small schooner, with a 
A still smaller cabin; but answering 
very well for sleeping in when, as 
night overtook us, we could find no 
more comfortable quarters. 

After a day of unusual fatigue, but 
of great success, night came upon ub 
as we were moving along one of those 
unfrequented sloughs that lie to the 
north and east of the mouth of the San 
Joaquin river. Unfrequented, did I 

say ? not wholly so : for here the sports- 
man ofl pursues his game, and the 
trapper sets his teeth of steel to catch 
the stealthy beaver. 

We had descried in the distance, 
long before nightfall, a solitary shake- 
cabin or shanty. We made for it ; but 
found it so dilapidated on our near ap- 
proach, we supposed it hardly possible 
it could be occupied : and yet, a very 
good canoe lay moored at the edge of 
the slough in front of it ; and as we 
neared the shore, a light smoke was 
seen curling up from the roof of the 

It was now twilight : and as we ap- 
proached nearer the cabin, an old and 
soiled blanket that formed the door was 
suddenly drawn aside, and, gun in 
hand, out stepped a stalwart form. 
But oh heavens! such features as he 
bore ! so old and haggard in his looks ; 
't would seem as though some spirit- 
fiend had preyed upon his soul, half 
through a long eternity. But he wel- 
comed us cordially. 

After dispatching our evening meal, 
the night being warm and balmy, we 
all took seats upon the low bank of 
the slough, watching the night birds, 
the sporting beaver, and the bittern as 
he flashed from beneath his wings bis 
phosphorescent light upon his prey. 

Conversation at length turned upon 
the song, or note, as being the voice or 
language of birds ; when our trapper, 
the occupant of the cabin, remarked — 
^ Birds can speaky and they sometimes 
tell ghastly tales, that could they be 
believt^d, would indicate some murder 
foul had been committed, not half a 
league from here." This remark, ut- 
tered with 80 much apparrent eamest- 
nessy quite startled us ; cor eyes were 



tnsUintly tamed upon him ; he noticed 
it, and joking] J remarked — ^ Tis noth- 
ing but a disordered imagination, but 
often while sitting here, and in my 
dreami at night, have I thought I heard 
astorj told of one who dealt in cattle, a 
herdsman from the Stockton plains ; 
that he was slain by cruel hands, for 
the money that he had ; and I have so 
oii heard it, that I could think it true, 
ooald I but hear it told when other 
witnesses were near." 

Amaased at his manner, I asked him 
what hoar of the night these birds were 
woot to tell their horrid tale ? 

** When all is deep darkness," he re- 
plied, ^ at no other time." 

But at that instant, in the bright 
noon-light, was seen an undefined object 
enveloped in a misty haze, approaching 
from the opposite side of the slough, 
hogging closely the surface of the wa- 
ter; on it came, and every .«ye was 
tomed upon it; till at length it took a 
fixed position but a few yards in front 
of as, but as undefined and indistinct as 
when first seen. 

And now the trapper, with a smile 
perfectly demoniacal playins^ upon his 
ieatores, called out — 

«• What news to-night? " 

When a voice low and sepulchral, 
bat dear and distinct rolled in upon the 
-^No newsl but to tell thee 
again, thou didst ihe deed I " 

'^ What deed ? "—asked the trapper. 

*^ Thou forced me, while yet alive, 
into a sepulchre of fire and flood." 

'^Tls false ! — bat since thou, a spec* 
tre grim of one whoonoe did live, canst 
•peak, and chargest me with it, thou 
hadft better tell the manner of thy 
death, in proof that tfaon and truth be 

*< First then, thou didst drug me " — 

" Tis false ! " 

** Then with my own lasso bound 



« Tis false I " 

*' TiK n placed my body in a tierce ; 
and having cut twain notches in the 
upp«ir head, replaced it in its circling 
grove, closing therein my bared neck ; 
my head above, my body crouched be- 
neath, within "— 

** Hold ! close thy rattling teeth ; re- 
membrance tells me naught of it." 

'' And thus circumscribed by shroud, 
the like ne'er worn by man before, 
thou placed me here, in the deep still 
waters of the slough ; with sack of lead- 
en bullets fastened to my feet ; and just 
enough of air within to buoy me up 
from drowning; then filledst the chime 
around with molten pitch, and set it all 
on fire ; and then, when I prayed to 
Heaven for the lightning's flash to 
shorten my great agony, as ^^ke last 
boon of life, I heard thy laugh upon 
the air, till my crisped ears were 
closed to sound ; and when my parched 
eyelids were drawn asunder by the 
flames, thou didst point thy finger at 
me ; and now — rememberest not I 

**• That thou didst die, and in the way 
thou 8ayest,may be very true ; if ghost 
or goblin ever speak the truth ; but as 
for m«, having any knowledge of the 
fact, thou liest 1 So I'll no more with 
thee — ^A vaunt! or a leaden shower 
shall rattle o'er thy sightless sockets, 
summoning thee to another judgment, 
for having come again to earth, to mar 
the peace of one who never knew thee." 

** If thou be innocent, be equal to 
thy threat ; perchance it may cut a.«un* 
der the thongs with which thou dida 



bind me ; and being loosed, that I mav 

rise again. " 
TJje trapper shuddered at the thought ; 
but having uttered threat, and then 
in turn, being by goblin dared; he 
raised his weapon with unsteady hand, 
and sped the leaden shower. And as 
his eye glanced beneath the rising smoke 
before him, he suddenly exclaimed— 
« Great God ! 'tis even so ! the crisped 
lips— the bared teeth— the sooty sock- 
ets that the balls were burned in— they 
are all there — and see — ^it moves — ^it 
moves — ^it rises ! " 

And with the thought, so did the 
spectre rise, and from his then unloosed 
limbs, coiled quickly up his lasso, and 
in an instant hurled it upon the shoul- 
ders of the trapper. And now a strug- 
gle as for life ensued, as hand o'er hand 
the now sinking spectre tightened an 

the line. 

Vainly the trapper sought his girdle 
for hi^teife ; in vain with mighty effort 
at resistance, ploughed with his feet 
deep furrows in the ground ; in vain he 
grasped the growing shrub, earnestly 
he called for mercy, "Oh, let me stay !" 
he cried, " I know I'm guilty ; but take 
me not to the dead I " but the spectre 
of the slough, kept tightening on the 

And now, as though a thousand de- 
mons were witnessing the scene, long, 
loud laugh-shrieks, fiend like and terri- 
ble, rang out from among the tules and 
and along the slough, as the spectre 
herdsman kept tightening on his Une. 

One fearful shriek, a plunge, and all 
was o'er : we saw the cabin's occupant 
no more, for the spectre of the slough, 
had taken in hit Urn. Pionekb. 

[A pretty tough yam, that, Mr. Pi- 


BT 6. H. B. 

Hie for the lilies ! the bonny white lilie« I 
The Bweet-Bcented UUes that bloom on the Ml I 
Will you go with me, dearie, to gather the lilieB, 
The Bwee^»cented lllie», the bonny white hliot, 
The lilies away on the side of the hill ? 

There we'U walk in the shade of the taU fore«t 

And recline on the moss-cushioned ground. 
And our cheeks shaU be kUscd by the wing of the 

That beareth the sweets of the Ulios around. 
There's a green litUe bower on the side of the hUl. 
And a rill flowing by sings an eloquent song ; 

There our bosoms with nature's wild p«an sliaU 

thrill, , . . , 

>Vhile time, like the current, goes Uughmg along. 

There the fond birds are telling, around and above. 

In full many a sweet roundelay, 
How thoir breastles ! are swelling with m«lc Mid 

We may love, lassie dear, and be happy aa they. 
See ! the honey-bee gathers from many a flower 

The balm of the blossom the sweetest at dawn. 
Like that bee let us banquet on love for the hour. 

Ere the blossoms of life shaU be faded and gone. 

Then hie for the lOies ! the bonny white Wles ! 
O, sweet are the lilies that bloom on the hill. 
When will yon go with me to gather the Mlcfil 
The pride of the mountolns, the bonny white Ull 
Our troth 'mid the lilies away on the hill. 

Look upon the Beautiful. — ^Yes, 
in whatever form it may appear, look 
upon the Beautiful. For in the gray 
gossamer of the morning, in the bright- 
ness of the sun, in the clear blue sky of 
noon-day, in the golden glory of the 
sun-set, in the mellow shades of even- 
ing twilight, in the silvery beams of 
the moon and in the twinkling of the 
stars, there is Beauty. ^ 

In the bending boughs of the forest, 
in the waving grain-fields, in the grassy 
lawn, in the flowers of the glen and 
hill-side and in the ripening fruits, there 
is Beauty. And they are all as signet- 
gems, set by God's own hand, as tokens 
of Bis taste and love for the Beautiful, 
that in looking upon them, we may be 
taught to love the Beautiful also. 

Let us then thank Him for the les- 
son, and show our gratitude by look- 
ing upon and cultivating, always and 
everywhere, a love for the Beantifiil. 





Ha, ha, ha ! It was a funnj freak 
^ mine. I can't avoid laughing what- 
ever I think of it Now, 1 wonder if 
you wouldn't like to know what it was ? 

Well, as most persons are curious, 
ril relate the circumstance. 

The celebrated Divine, Dr. S., was 
to preach for a few Sabbaths in the 
Rev. Mr. L's church ; and, of course, 
a vast concourse of people were there 
assembled to listen to his eloquent dis- 
courses. I, having just received my 
new plaid silk dress from the dress 
makcr^s, concluded that there was no 
better place for me to make mj debut 
in it than at the Dr's. 

Of coarse, I did not intend going 
merely for that ; for be it known that 
I attend church quite regularly ; but 
then, I roust candidly confess that I was 
not entirely free from vanity whilst 
Mirveying myself in the large mirror, 
because the fit was excellent, the frock 
pretty ; and moreover, it was the first 
new dress that I had bought for six 
months. Just think of it! only one 
silk dress in six months ! ! What 
would FiAh Avenue folks say to that ? 
However, the dress was pretty, and I 
was proud of it — that's the truth of the 
matter. So after arranging the re- 
mainder of my dressing that I was to 
wear with the much-talked-of article ; 
!$uch as putting a new piece of ribbon 
on my bonnetr— cleaning a pair of 
Mnled gloves with some crumbs of 
bread, and mending the rent in my 
veil ; I considered myself prepared to 
attend church on the following Sunday. 
Therefore, when the morning arrived, 
at ifae ring of the second beU I turned 
mv fiice towards the church. 

The day was as calm as any one 
oookl have wished: Italian-like skies 
— soft light falling on the hill-sides be- 
yond the Bay — together with all that 
I saw around me (the dress not except- 
ed) made me think everything ** nobly, 
truly beaatiful." When I reached the 
irteps of the sacred building, it was 

with great difficulty that I could get to 
the door in safety, there being such a 
number of persons who were likewise 
striving to gain the top of the stairs. 

I succeeded, finally, in entering" the 
church, and was politely ushered to a 
seat in an obscure comer of the house. 
Two or three cologne-scented gentle- 
men occupied the same pew ; and they, 
together with a number of their canes, 
monopolizing about seven-eights of it, 
I certainly found myself very comfort- 
ably seated. They appeared quite dis- 
pleased at my entrance, and seemed to 
think that I was not dressed with suffi- 
cient elegance to obtain so desirable a 
seat as the one by them. There it 
was ! No one noticed my new dress 
any more than they would my old one. 
It was too bad ! That, I declared men- 
tally. But no wonder. In a few min- 
utes the double doors were thrown 
open, and what did I see ? Could it 
be that those were women in the cen- 
ter of such immense thicknesses of 
clothing? None other! And such 
tiny bonnets, uselessly endeavoring to 
peep over the ladies* heads, to which 
they were fastened : and such graceful 
trains of silks and satins ! 

Now all eyes M'ere directed towards 
the door, to mark the entrance of the 
fashionables. Ah, another comes, and 
still more. Oh ! such hoops and such 
loves of bonnets ! No wonder that I 
was not looked upon. I began to think 
how glorious it must be to attract the 
attention of every one in church by 
dressing, no matter whether you have 
any intelligence or not 

But why could not I have hoops ; 
and how could I get them ? Ah ! there 
was the r-rub. Father despises the 
sight of hoops and little bonnets (how 
like all fathers,) and is decidedly op- 
posed to ladies' sweeping the streets 
with dresses ! Therefore, he would of 
course object to my dressing fashion- 

However, notwithstanding that, and 
that I was in the house of God ; yet I 
then and there concocted a scheme by 
which I might obtain a goodly share of 



attention on the coming Sabbath. Af- 
ter f^ervice, I walked home thinking. 

On the following Saturdaj I took 
my new plaid dress from its accustom- 
ed place in the wardrobe, and after 
tearing out gathers and hems, and re- 
sewing them, succeeded in having as 
fine a train as any one, (at least, as 
lengthy a one). Ere long, my bonnet 
had a new bow of ribbon at the side, 
and bugles around the front. It took 
but a few minutes to go to a store, and 
purchase some pieces of whalebone ; 
and in less time than you could say 
" Jack and his bean-pole," I was the 
possesfsor of as large and good a hoop- 
ed skirt as any of the ladies of that 

The long-wished-for Sunday came 
at la.<^t, and again did I ascend the steps. 
I was later than before ; and as I 
sailed in at the door, behold every eye 
was upon me ! In passing up the aisle 
gentlemen arose and proffered me their 
seats. When at length I was about 
entering a pew, the terrible thought 
came into my mind that I was the wear- 
er of enormously large hoops, and what 
if I could not pass in ? However there 
was no alternative, and so I managed, 
probably through fright, to seat myself. 
Now all eyes were directed towards 
me. The lookers thought of course, 
that I was one of the leaders of fash- 
ion, and one worthy upon whom to be- 
stow their glances. I certainly was 
arrayed in the ne plus ultra of fashion, 
for my hoops were of large dimensions 
— my train all that could be desired — 
and my bonnet arranged a la mode^ on 
the back of my neck : and besides this, 
I walked into the church with an nir 
of nonchalance that was observable by 
all, and one, of course, that would at- 
tract the attention of all foolish crea- 
tures therein. Persons continued to 
glance at me : and I must acknowledge 
— ^bad as it was — that I leaned my head 
upon my hand wliUt the Doctor was 
praying for editors and all other prtor 
beings^ and was actually, half the time, 
chuckling in my wide sleeves to think 
how easy it was to be grand] how 

simple to gloriously attract the atten- 
tion of nearly all the house: how — 
but I then began to wonder if they 
could be sensible persons who do so. 
fTould gentlemen slight a commonly, 
but neatly di*essed lady, who comes to 
church, by not offerinsf her a seat, as 
well as graciously proffering a ridicu- 
lously dressed one a pew which they 
are occupying themselves ? Certainly 
not. They most assuredly would not, 
were they of God's people ; or were 
they sensible beings. 

Therefore, why should I covet or 
care for their attention and glances: if 
they have nothing more profitable to 
employ them than to go to church and 
scrutinizingly gaze at and comment up- 
on ladies* dresses, and to monopolize 
seats? I finally concluded that I 
should prefer no attention at all to that, 
and have returned to — as my old friends 
say — my more sensible style of dress- 


On ft rospatA conch In an arbor of vine^, 
Reclining, I dreamed of the days that are past, — 

And geniR of all luster, from fabul.'Us nuneii» 
Hung dnstering round on the pendulous vines. 

And poppies were strewn o'er the path 1 bad paaaed 

The Zephyr came silently laden with dreams. — 
And her wingt* bore a )4uroberous musical strain. 

While far away floated sweet munnnrlng streams, 
'Till in distance they blent with the silvery beaxna 

Of Luna, that dreamily fell on the plain. 

Light gossamer clouds floated high in the air, 
Assuming the forms of most beautiful things, 

And the sky was so bright, and the earth was so 

That, lulled to repose by the gentleness there. 
My Fancy took flight on her slumberous winga. 

Such fragrance came cut on the air of the night, 

Such melody traversed Rrial aisles, 
That land was a city all peopled and bright 
With the airiest forms and the rosiest light, 

And each ouuntenance beamed with the happiest 

And gardens all filled with such delicate flowers,^ 

Where stroUod the most lovely and perfect of 


And arbors were there In whose cool shady bowers. 

The roses were fanned by the wings df the hours, 

Ajid refreshed by the Juice of the gushing younif 


O beautiftil thought ; that onr spirits can rise. 
Through stirrows and troubles to Dream Land 
the blest; 
Can people with fancies the realm of the skiM, 
Give lifH to our wishes, and hopes to our s ghs. 
Ami find in a lifetime sweet moments of rest. 

LoiiA LKft. 




^ Colonel M^Clure,** said a sailor, 
*^jou seem rather an early riser thi^ 

The aristocratic Colonel turned 
roond to take a look at Jack, who had 
so familiarly accosted him. 

<* Why Jack, is that you ; how came 
yoQ here? I thought you were one of 
the crew of the Lady Mary." 

** Well, yott see Colonel, i got in a 
row the dr^ the steamer sailed, and 
as I did n<di|ke to engage on any oth- 
er steamer^ am waiting her return.'' 

** la the Lady Mary expected this 
morning. Jack,*' asked the Colonel, ev- 
idently much excited. 

** Why yes, Colonel; she has heen 
kwked for more than a week." 

**' Do you think anything has hap- 
pened. Jack ?" 

** Why, Colonel," said Jack, laugh- 
mg, **8he will happen in port to-day." 

"* God grant it^" said the Col., ^ but 
how do you know that. Jack ? " 

^ Why, you see, Col., there are two 
steamers expected besides the Lady 
Mary, and it could not have been her 
thai was seen burning last night, and if 
you will give me a dollar or two to get 
Home gn^ (for I'm as dry as a fish,) 
111 get all the news I can, and deliver 
it as soon as possible. 

** Here Jack, take this and be o^* 
with you." 

The Colonel, completely overcome 
with anxiety, made his way home ; so 
deeply wa«« he grieved at the prospects 
of the Lady Mary being burned, as it 
contained much that was near and detir 
to him ; Charles, his only son, and his 
oaly brother, William, who had been 
traveling several months with Charles, 
** if kHt," said the Colonel, ^ what com- 
ibrt can my immense wealth give me ; 
it was only for Charles, and now per- 
haps be lit burned on the ill-fated steam- 
er," and harrying home he threw him- 
self on the rich sofa, and covering his 
face with his hands, was so absorbed 
in h» own grief, that he did not hear 

any one approach ; and not until he felt 
some one lay their hand softly on his 
shoulder, did he look up« There stood 
Jack, eyeing the Colonel with evident 

*' News, Colonel," said Jack," good 
news ! Jack never fetches bad news ; 
Lady Mary is s;^." 

*^ God be praii^ed," said the Colonel, 
and rising, he thanked Jack for his 
trouble and kindness, and presenting 
him with a draft of fiAy dollars, gave 
Jack his blessing. 

" Dear Colonel," said Jack, " I'll be 
a new man : I'll see that your kindness 
is not lost on me ; " and bowing. Jack 
made his way to other quarters. 

'^ Missus wants you," said the faith- 
ful old Dinah ; and the Colonel, walk- 
ing up stairs, entered his wife's room. 

*' How are you now, Susan ? " 

^ Better. Has the Steamer been 
heard of yet, Colonel ? " 

^ Yes, dear, she will be in to-day, I 
think, and by the way Susan, I expect 
our old mansion will look quite insig- 
nificant to Brother William and Charles 
aAer seeing so many fine edifices in 

^ What are the servants making 
such a noise about down stairs Col. r 
Do go and see what can be the matter.*^ 
The Colonel opened the door, and in 
rushed Dinah. 

'^ Young Massa Charles has come I 
I seed him wid dese eyes, I did Missus, 
sure as I'm born." 

^ Where, Dinah, did you see him 7 

" Why, coming right home, he is, 
look, dont you see him. Massa ? " 

And there, furc enough, was Charles 
with his uncle intiide the gate, and be- 
ing welcomed by all the servants. 

In another moment and Charles em- 
braced his dear parents ; they were all 
overjoyed with happiness at meeting 
each other again. 

" What prevented you from coming 
into port so long, brother ? " asked the 

'* We were detained in consequence 
of rendering aid to the burning steam- 
er, Flying Turtle ; all the passengers 


utjTCHings' califori^ia magazine. 

and crew were saved with difficulty." 

" We were very much alarmed," said 
the Colonel, **but thank God jou are 
all safe." 

The Coloners liouse was throngecJii 
with coinpaay, to congratulate the 
travelers on their return. Many were 
the warm invitations Charles received 
to return the calls, as early as possible. 
Many were the happy days spent in the 
enjoyments of their re-union, but they 
were not destined to be thus always. 

The second year after Charles* re- 
turn, he became enamored with a young 
lady, the knowledge of which gave his 
good father and mother much uneasi- 
ness. Adaline Gray was the daughter 
of a rich merchant in Charleston. — 
Adaline was tall and rather handsome, 
proud, and vicious. She lived 
a lie, for no one that saw her could 
think well of 9uch deformity with so 
fair an exterior ; her whole time was 
spent in maneuvering for her own ag- 
grandizement, without the least regard 
for the feelings of others. It is not 
surprising then, that she should lay 
every plan to captivate Charles Mc- 
Clure, a young man of wealth, intellec- 
tual, handsome, prepossessing, of good 
morals and unsuspecting ; ever looking 
for the good qualities of those with 
whom he became acquainted. 

Adaline was quite successful, and 
Charles spent much of his time at her 
shrine. Colonel McClure, not knowing 
exactly how far matters had advanced, 
with Adaline and his son, the whole 
family happening to be present at din- 
ner, he asked, " Is it true that Edward 
Allen is going West ? " " Yes," an- 
swered Uncle William, " Miss Adaline 
Gray has mittened the poor fellow, and 
he has been discharged from his em- 
ployment as clerk; so you see that 
Allen has been mittened by Mr. Gray, 
as well as by Adaline." 

*• He is very unfortunate," added 
Mrs. McClure. 

" Rather fortunate, you mean, sister," 
said Uncle William. " I should be 
j»orry to have my head in such a noose. 
I would rather loose ten clerkships," 

added he, and tui-ning to Charles, he 
said, with a mischievous smile, ^' I am 
afraid that you will wear yf«ur welcome 
out Master Charles, if you continue to 
visit Miss Adaline so often at meal 
time, for Gray is as stingy as a pinched 

" I think you do Mr. Gray great in- 
justice, replied Charles, with warmth ; 
as for Adaline rejecting Allen, I think 
there is some mistake, for she would 
not so far forget her position in society 
as to coi^uette with a man of Allen's 
standing ; and besides, I am betrothed 
to Adaline myself, and || i$ very disa- 
greeable to me to hear my friends 
speak of her and her family, in this 
disrespectful manner;" said Charles, 
pushing himself back from the table. 

" Betrothed to Adaline ? " said Uncle 
William ; " Why Charles, how can a 
man of your sense love a girl so super- 
ficial ? " 

" Every young belle is superficial in 
the eyes of old bachelors, like Uncle,** 
said Charles, ^ and so I shall not lay 
the charge up against Adaline." 

" Do as you please, my boy ; but ii 
you hang that belle around your neck 
you will find the clapper inconvenient- 
ly long, besides the everlasting jingle, 
tingling in your ears." 

" I hope father and mother are not 
as prejudiced as you are. Uncle." 

" Well my son, your mother and 
myself have a very bad opinion of the 
family ; I am very sorry to say it, 
but you have our opinion, and now act 
for yourself; we do not wish to control 
you, only for your own happiness," said 
his father, with much feeling. 

" Well, father, if I marry Adaline, it 
is I that will have to live with her." 

"Yes, my son, make your own 
choice, but choose with wisdom." 

"Dinner being over, Charles took 
his hat and walked over to Charleston 
to see his friend Milford, as they were 
making preparations for a fine enter- 
tainment that was to come off in a few 
days. Charles found Milfbrd at the 
house of Mr. Scott, waiting for JuHji 
and Emma Scott to go riding. 



•* There is plenty of room in the car- 
rim^Fe. Come go with us, Charles," 
^d Mllford. 

** No,'* said Chfcrles, «I will not de- 
tain Tou, I only wanted to know when 
ran have decided to go West, for I am 
dt^termined to accompany you. I have 
ail things ready now, but we must not 
j^o before that party comes oflP, you 
know, for we promised our presence ; 
but I am detaining you ; " and wishing 
them a good morning, turned several 
comers, and then found himseH again 
io the presence of Adaline. 

**' Dear Chifles, you have come at 
Ian ; I declare I am so desolate when 
jou are not here ; would you believe 
it, although I have had so many oppor- 
tunities of marriage, you are the only 
one that I have ever loved.'* 

•'Dear Adaline," said Charles, "when 
I return from my western tour with 
Milford, we will have our love consu- 

•* When you return, did you say ? 
Charles, let us be married before you 

** No Adaline ; I shall not be gone 
long, not more than six months ; per- 
haps not so long.'* 

Adaline could scarcely conceal her 
dL«appointment ; she thought he wcAild 
not dare to refuse her, and now she 
most wait another six months ; this was 
a ««evere trial to Adaline, for she was 
afraid that Charles might alter his mind 
reiatiTe to her ; at any rate, " delays 
are dangerous," thought she. 

•* Are you going to the party, Ada- 
line ? •*a'*ked Charles, " yes," said Ada- 
line* •* Well, I will bring the carriage 
around for you early," and kissing her, 
he t4M>k his leave. 

A few days and we find our friends 
at a splendid entertainment given by 
Mrs. Clark, a lady of fashion. The 
Xoests were entertained with all the 
pomp of the mo«t fastidious taste ; Ada- 
Kne wemed to be the belle of the eve- 
ning ; the took particular pains to play 
the agreeable, hoping to arouse Charles 
lojeakrasy; hut Charles was pleased 
with the attention she received, never 

dreaming of what was passing in the 
heart of Adaline. Tlje coin pany seem- 
ed to enjoy the evening to a degree 
that did honor to the lady who gave 
the entertainment. The evening pass- 
ed away, and Charles took Adaline 
home, expressing many regrets at leav- 
ing, and hopes oft pleasure when he 
returned from the West. The next 
morning found Charles and Milford on 
their journey. 

A few weeks of pleasant journeying 
and we find them on a Sabbath day, 
entering the door of a church in Ann 
Arbor, Michigan ; and were much sur- 
prised to see Edward Allen the officia- 
ting Minister. Allen recognized his 
friends, and invited them to call at his 
boarding house ; they promised to do 
so. The next morning after breakfast, 
Milford proposed calling on Allen. 

** Well, you can go, Milford, but I 
must write to Adaline and Father ; tell 
him that I will call soon." Milford left 
Charles writing, and made his way to 
the lodgings of Allen who seemed de- 
lighted to hear from his old friends. 

"And you tell me Milford, that 
Charles is going to marry Adaline." 

" Yes. As soon as he returns." A 
few other questions and Milford took 
his leave. Allen sat some time think- 
ing how Adaline had trifled with his 
feelings. " Yes," said he, ** I will be 
avenged ; she shall feel what it is to be 
disappointed. Yes, there is to be a 
party in a day or two, at Deacon Brad- 
shaw's, and I will procure them invita- 
tions, so that I can ' slip a spider in his 
dumpling.' Yes, I'll have revenge." — 
And deciding upon the matter, he went 
and procured the invitations, and called 
upon his old friends, delivered them 
with Mr. Bradshaw's compliments. 
Milford and Charles being pleased with 
the opportunity of seeing something of 
Western society, accepted the invita- 
tions with evident pleasure. The eve- 
ning soon arrived and our young heroes 
had turned their footsteps towards Dea- 
con Brads^haw's. They found their old 
friend Allen waiting to introduce them. 
They were hospitably received by the 



host and (guests ; the young ladies were 
really quite brilliant. As dancing was 
not countenanced, the young people 
amused themselves with plays. 

" There, they are agoing to sell a 
young lady's handkerchief as a pawn." 

" Yes, now I think of it," foloquized 
Allen, ^^ I will tell^linerva Bradshaw, 
what shall be done to redeem it ;" and 
stooping down, he whispered unobserv- 
ed, to Minerva, " The penalty to redeem 
Miss Kate Hayes' handkerchief, must 
be that she and Mr. McCIure have the 
marriage ceremony performed." 

Minerva thought it a rich thing, and 
pronounced the sentence. 

'* I think the penalty rather severe " 
said Kate, but she was obliged, out of 
compliment to (he company to redeem 
it, and Charles, to relieve her evident 
embarrasment, took her hand, and call- 
ed on some of them to perform the cer- 

Mr. Allen presented himself, and 
with a degree of mock solemnity went 
through the ceremony. All laughed, 
and Miss Kate got her handkerchief. 

Nothing more was thought of the 
marriage by the merry throng ; but 
Mr. Allen thought much. " Yes," said 
he, ^ I will fix it a tighter job than he 
thinks of," and making his way to the 
Clerk's office, he had the marriage re- 
cotded, and inserted in the morning 
paptif, and writing a marriage certifi- 
cate, he left it at the post office, and 
disguising himself, left for parts un- 

Charles. WSC3 astonished next morning 
at seeing his Inilrriage advertised, and 
on a further investigation of the matter, 
-he found himself a lawfully married 
man. His distress can better be imag- 
ined than described. Milford, who 
shared in his distr^s, soon ascertained 
the Rev. Mr* Allen had lefl the place. 
What was td be done ? A divorce 
must now be had before he could roar* 
ry Adaline. The whole thing seemed 
80 ridiculous that our heroes left in dis- 
gust for home. Charles declared that 
if he ever saw Allen he would sho«t 
him ; and as for poor Kate, Charles 

strongly suspected her being in league 
with Allen ; he never saw her but once 
and never wished to look at ittr again. 

We will leave <iar heroes on their 
way home, while we take a look at 

After the party, she returned home 
to her Uncle's, where she had been left 
by her parents to attend school ; her 
father and mother having gone to 
California. Sixteen years of age, and 
possessing naturaly a superior intellect, 
she fasd made rapid progress in her 
studies, and took delight in contempla- 
ting the time when she sllDuld graduate 
and be able to instruct her little sisters 
in California. 

" S<x months more, and I shall re- 
ceive my diploma," said Kate, as she 
was spending her vacation at, the time 
of the fatal marriage, *' and then father 
will send for me ; how happy I shall be." 

Kate was ever studying the happi- 
ness of others, and being left with those 
who would make but little allowance 
for her faults, what now would be her 
uncle's displeasure towards her, when 
he came home ; one unintentional fault, 
and how much sorrow it had already 
cost her. 

*' It will kill my poor father and 
mother," said she, wringing her hands 
and weeping as if her heart would 
break, " what will uncle say ? '' 

** Wife, what is all this fuss, about 
Kate getting married." 

" Why, I believed the ceremony was 
only in fun, but somehow it is made 
out lawful," said Mrs, Page, " and I 
understand that Allen hud something 
to do with it ; at any rate he ran away 
and Kate is in a paroxys^m of distress," 

** Well, she deserves to be in distress^ 
I don't pity her ; but where is shel^* 

^ Slve is. up stairs, sick, she takes it 
so to heatf." 

" Children should not play with edg- 
ed tools ; I always despised a ' grass 
-widow ;' her father, may as well send 
ifi^ her, now, I think she lias graduated 
^ifld'I will write him to-morrow." We 
will leave Kate now, while we take a 
i \$iiok at Mr. Charles. 



The news of the marriage reached 
borne before he got there, but the real 
»tate of aflkirs was not exactly known. 
Charles imraediatelj sought Adaline, 
aod made her acquainted with the 
vbole. Her rage knew no bounds ; 
•be abosed everybody. Not that she 
cannl for Charles, but his property ; 
and in giving away to her anger, she 
di.«closed to Charles her real character, 
tod in spite of himself he felt disap- 
pointed in Adaline. 

** Are yoo going to Mil ford's fred- 
ding to-morrow, Adaline ?" asked Chas. 

*^ No indeed ; the Scotts ami we are 
Dot on good terms." 

** I am sorry to hear it, Adaline, 
for they are my particular friends." 

** Well you had better go and take 
the other one ; perhaps she would rel- 
ish a divorced husband." 

This last remark so wounded bin 
feelinjs that he arose and went home. 

** Divorced husband I This is insup- 

With these thoughts, Charles seated 
himself in his mother's drawing-room. 
** Where is Uncle William, mother ?" 

•-There he is comin'^ in from a walk." 

** Come, Uncle William, and give me 
some of your advice, for I am sadly dis- 
t.-»*«4ed about this unfortunate mar- 

** Why, do you wish to get a divorce P' 

** Most certainly, Uncle." 

•* Well, my advice is, to send for 
foar wife and acknowledge the rela- 
uon, for I tell you Charles there never 
vas such a di?:grace brought on our 
hou^e, and I hope the name of McClure 
will never be stigmatized with the name 
or divorce." 

•* Yoar mother and I are just of the 
opinion of your uncle, Charles," said 
hi 4 father* '^ it is the best thing you can 

*^ I win tell yon what I will do, fath- 
er, if she will come, I will acknowledge 
the relation ; thus far she shall be con- 
sidered as my Uwful wife ; to stop scan- 
dal, she shall receive every respect, 
as Mm, McClure, but my heart I shall 
r«s»enre, and she must be made acquain- 
ted with this fact." 

'^Weli," said the Colonel, '*! will write 
her to-morrow, and await the issue," 

Two weeks had now elapsed, when 
Colonel McClure received a letter from 
Mr. Page, saying, he would send Kate 
in a few days ; she had been dangi^r- 
ously sick, and was now just able to 
sit up. A few weeks more elapsed, 
and the stage drove up to Colonel Mc- 
Clure's mansion ; Charles was not in 
and Uncle William Itanded the young 
and beautiful wife from the stage, and 
introduced her to her father and moth- 
er. Kate burst into tears as she re- 
ceived the warm embraces of the old 
people, and throwing her arms around 
the old lady's neck, she besought their 
forgiveness for her unintentional error, 
her youth and beauty, .together with 
her artlessness, won them immediately. 

" Where is the unfortunate young 
man I have made so unhappy." 

" He will soon be in ; but come, I 
will show you your room, where you 
can dress," and following her mother- 
in-law, was ushered intb a magnificent 
suit of rooms. 

" You had better lie down and rest 
child, until tea, you look quite exhaus- 

'* You are very kind, dear mother, 
give me a kiss before you go down, for 
I feel that you are a dear sympathizing 

" Well, now take a little rest my 
dear child, put your trust in God, and 
all will be well." 

** Kate's limited wardrobe required 
but little lime for its arrangement, her 
black silk dress and beautiful form ac- 
corded well with her sweet and melan- 
choly face. The tea bell rang, and 
Uncle William knocked at her door. — 

" Are you rea<Jy for tea, my little 

Kate looked up, and her eyes filled 
with tears. She was overcome with 
so much unexpected kindne&s. They 
descended to the sitting room, where 
Charles was waiting to receive her. — 
He held out his hand with cold formal- 
ity ; suddenly dropping her hand, he 
led the way to the supper room. After 



. \ -■ 

tea, compaDj came in, and all were 
pleased with young Mrs. McCljiire. 

" You iiad better retire soon, dear," 
said her Uncle. " Come, I will help 
you up stairs. A night's rest will do 
y6u pood ; good night. 

" Well, Charles, how you like the 
looks of your little wife ?" 

" I like her so well that I shall leave 
home until I can control my hatred 
better," answered Charles. 

" Do as you like, my boy, and your 
uncle will bid you God speed." 

Long before Kate was up Charles 
was on his way to Mississippi. 

K'lte'a health improved, and her un- 
cle felt such sympathy for the unfortu- 
nate young wife, that he secured to her 
twenty thousand dollars, where she 
could draw at pleasure. Kate was a 
special favorite with everybody. Old 
Dinah said she ** loved her as well as 
•Massa Charles." Kate's kindness won 
upon lier father and mother. She 
played for them, sang their favorite 
pieces, and was never tired of entertain- 
ing them. 

" If Charles only loved Kate," said 
the Colonel, " I could die happy." 

" She is a delicate flower, and is ea- 
sily crushed. I fear that she will droop 
and die in the uncongenial soil to which 
she has been transplanted," said Uncle 
William. " I fancy I can see her now 
in her narrow house, and before anoth- 
er year rolls round, Chas. will be free." 

** God protect the innocent ! " ejacu- 
lated the Colonel, ** and may she yet 
see the day, when she will be the dear- 
ly beloved wife of Cliarles. This is my 
fervent prayer." 

** We could die in peace then, dear 
husband," said Mrs. McClure, " for she 
is all we could ever wish in a daughter, 
and 'I cannot think what has altered 
Charles so much ; he ought at least to 
..pity her, for he was as much to blame 
as she ; and she is as innocent as she is 
lovely, and could not have been in any 
way leagued with Allen, as Charles 

• ** Wu are all satisfied of her innocence," 
said Uncle William, ^ bat here comes 

Joe from the post office. Anv letters, 

" Yes, Massa." • 

" Let me see them. Two for Kate 
and one for the Col. Youra, brother, 
is from Charles, it has the Mississippi 
post mark." **Take these to Miss Kate. 
Joe. Yes it is from Charles," said the 
Colonel, and he read it aloud with 
trembling anxiety. 

[To be Continued.] 



Air— "God mve the King." 

Great God ! to thee we raise 
Our soDgs of grateful praise, 

For Washington. 
I^et notes triumphant sound, 
And hearts respondent bound, 
With thanks rrom all around,' 

For Washington. 

Our liberty we owe, 
With tyranny's o'erthrow, 

To Washington. 
Past battle-fields we view. 
And there in glorious hue, 
Wc see the debt that^s due 

To Washington. 

Our Senate haH? too showed 
That virtue brigiitly glowed, 

In Washington. 
Courajco with wisdom joined, 
Justice with truth combined, 
Firmness and love wc find, 

In Washington. 

First in w^ar, first in peace. 
First in our hearts we )>lace, 

Our Washington. 
Our countrv's foes could ne'er 
Show character so fair, 
With whom they dare compare, 

Our Washington. 

In freedom's sacred fane. 
First will be found the name, 

Of Washington. 
Watchword of liberty ! 
Oh how dear to the fre«, 
The name will ever be 

Of Washington. 

Americans 1 then raise 
Your proud, your joyful lays 

For Washington. 
And ve, from o'er the sea, 
WhoVc fled from tyranny. 
Shout, loudest of tfie Freo 

For Washing;ton. 
C. V. G. 






I am a bachelor, worse luck, and 
what is worse, getting into the sere 
and rellow leaf ot' my anthropical veg- 
fiation. I kept my college fellowship 
^ long, that it deprived me of the op- 
»rtanity of any umliebric fellowship. 
I *occeeded to the property of a fellow 
^afTfrf r, an nncle, on condition that I 
^f>ald alter my patronymic from Ent- 
vhinle to Pennywhistle. 

My hoa!«ekeeper is not only keeper 
"f my hou.'te, but keeper of the master 
•if iL She is scarcely of portal^e size 
<>ut!icient to be moved without a lever, 
yrt she ha^ the art of ubiquity to per- 
:»-»"tion, for of every rag-hole of the 
•nrret to the rat hole of the cellar, I 
•K) believe she is fully cognizant. I 
man be of a strange, dishone.<>t natare 
t.> my-^elf, for she insi.sts upon putting 
■jnder lock and key every blessed thing 
that may be placed under the house, in 
the hou.-«e, above the house, and around 
the boase, even to the jalap and Ep- 
<rfMii MiltA department of the family 
medicine chest, and such a parade of 
I'M'king and unlocking goes on through 
tlie whole of the day, that I oflen wish 
^rom my heart that some clever thief 
vffMild pay as a visit, and with his pick- 
rfc^k, pick a quarrel with every key- 
hole in the place. 

If she would confine to her own 
rapacioad zone, these ateel guardians 
liirainTt 8leali|^I might submit to the 
thraldom ; bil^Rie insists upon my be- 
ing my own turnkey and jailor to cer- 
tiin prisoners that every liberal, gen- 
TOfis hoo-sekeeper scorns to deprive 
of liberty. If I want a glass of wine for 
a friend, or to recommend a dose for 
an enemy, the trouble is all the same, 
my attention must be attracted to a 
particolar key, with a particular mark, 
with sandry cautions how to put it in 
if worn, and bow to pull it out if rusty, 
how to tarn it, if stiff, or how not to 
tarn ft, if broken. She has all the 
" peaay wmrtd a penny got" maxtmfl by 

heart, as every candle-end in the house 
can testify. In vain I tell her my for- 
tune requires no such parsknony. I 
know nothing about it, I have not seen 
as she has, how large fortunes are 
dwindled into less than nothing by con- 
stant little wastes, and thi n she refers 
to her own disposition to waste, how if 
it were not kept under proper subjec- 
tion, what would become of me, al- 
though I am the last man in the world 
to meddle with such a waist as her key 
zone encircles. That is my present 

The one before her was a widow, 
one of the sauciest, coaxingest little 
sluts that. ever killed a man. She had 
the prettiest arm and hand 1 ever saw, 
and she knew it as well as myself. I 
have always been a very susceptible 
appreciator of beauty and fine form in 
any sha])e, from a candlestick up weirds 
to the Venus de Medicis. , This little 
wretch took as zealous and tender cara 
of my health as the present one* does 
of my property. She would never let 
me go out of my house without con- 
sulting the weathercock, nor come into 
my chamber without looking at the 
barometer ; and then the exit forsooth 
must be accompanied with a belcher 
handkerchief around my throat if foggy, 
or great coat if cloudy, and my en- 
trance with change of shoes and oflen 
of linen. 

It is not my fault that I am a bach- 
elor as the sequel to this and other his- 
tories of my housekeepers can prove. 
Such unwearied solicitude for my 
health, I mistook for ulterior design 
on my celibacy, and nothing loth, I 
favored and fell into the deception. 
'' Dear me," said she one morning with 
her little pouting, plump, red, cherry 
lips ; " How ill you look Mr. Penny- 
whistle, have you passed a bad night ? 
You do look so careworn and so an- 
guish struck l^e, that I am quite con- 
cerned about ybu'; do ci\\\ on my friend 
Doctor Dolittle and ask him to pre- 
scribe for that frightful cough you had 
last night." It was in vain I assured 
her I nevfu* fiQlt better in my life, and 



to my knowledge never coughed once 
during the whole night, but slept as 
souncl as an owl. 

** Do look at yourself in the glass," 
said she, ** and be convinced." I looked, 
I saw nothing but a round, fat, dumpy 
face, glowing with health, with cheeks 
as red as porter steaks. Why Mrs. 
Dimples, said I, (that's a playful name 
I gave her instead of Mrs. Temples) 
the reflection appears glowing with 

"Apoplectic," said she, "Mr. Pen- 
ny whistle, apoplectic; that red and 
white, coming and going like sunshine 
and storm is treacherous, very treach- 
erous. Do be advised by a friend, 
Mr. Pennywhistle." Charming little 
sorceress, I could have thrown myself 
at her feet and popped the question, if 
I could have stood any chance of get- 
ting ^p again without help, I am so 
very short and fat. Twas strange, 
although the dear creature saw the 
canker in my blossom of health. I 
told her that in the words of Spring- 
field, or Summerfield, or Bloomfield, 
or whatever the poet's name of field 
may be. 

" I felt myself so sound and plump, 
That hang me, if I could'nt jump." 

Yet I was resolved to see her friend 
Doctor Dolittle, more especially as his 
name implied that he would'nt do 
much to unsettle me by his prescrip- 
tions. So going out for that purpose 
I encountered another friend of the 
little woman's. 

« Good heavens ! Mr. Pennywhistle, 
what is the matter with you this morn- 
ing ? Has anything happened ? Mrs. 
Temples is well I hope." 

Why do you ask friend, said I. 

« Why my dear sir, you do look so 
desperately ill!" 

Well, thought I, good looks must be 
treacherous ; yet I assure the reader 
I never felt better in all my life. I 
saw the man of pills; he saw my 
tongue; felt my pulse; made me 
couf^h ; and convinced me that change 
of air was indispensable. So I took 
the nearest linen in my wardrobe, and 

the next stage to the country, and ofiT I 
went. As I was being lumbered along 
a thought struck me I had not made rij 
will, I might die and my worldly traps 
be scattered to the four points of a 
stranger^s compass, and leave the dear 
little thing without a dime, unpitied 
and uncared for by a ruthless world. 
So I got myself wheeled back again. 
Thought I to myself, now I will give 
the dear litte soul a funny surprise ; 
I'll creep in at the back door, ensconse 
myself in the china closet, and enjoy a 
peep unseen through the key-hole. I 
wondered how she would be consoling 
herself in my absence, and I longed to 
make the experiment of a sudden sur- 

Two or three times previously I im- 
agined she had been shedd'ng tears in 
secret. Who knows but that I might 
be the unconscious cause of them. 

As I neared the house towards even- 
ing I was amazed to find the whole 
front of the parlor, having a goodly 
display of fine windows, all lighted 
up. What can be ^oing on thought I, 
so I crept in unperceived into the cloak 
room of the hall, leaving the door just 
ajar so that I might hear and see all 
the proceedings. Will the reader be- 
lieve it, the minx had availed herself 
of my absence to give a grand party 
to those very friends who had so dar- 
ingly given the lie to my good health 
in the morning. In this my pleasant 
retreat, I had the supreme felicity of 
hearing the little wretch allude to 
me in no very respectfiil terms, as 
"dumpy," "old codger* " squatty ,** 
" old fogy," " snuffy old twaddle ;'* (I 
had forsworn snuff the last fortnight) 
which were duly responded to in suit- 
able complimentary language, as " con- 
ceited old prig," " amorous old fool," 
" musty old antiquary," " bow-legged 
Adonis ;" The pleasure I experienced 
was enhanced by the liberal use ol 
the best wines of my cellar, and tho 
choicest bits of my larder. 

Two or three times was I obliged 
to check the ardor of my resolution tc 
sally out to break the head of tluM 



•ounpv Doctor Dolittle, who it seemed 
hftd been the author of the vile hum- 
boj^ pmetised on me, but I forbore, 
being determined to see the farce 
played out in spite of my teeth, which 
vere often grinding at her vi}e ingrat- 

All was passing mightily pleasant, 
when a certain lawyer called for the 
foog which she the said widow, had 
composed upon myself, and which he 
iArared them was a very gem. This 
gem as near as my outstretched ears 
eoold catch was as follows : 

"Old puppy Pcnnywhtstle, 
Old iofiy Pennjwbiiitle 
Ia m> fat and greasy, 
With a cou^h too ao wboesy, 
With red hair bo fiery, 
All Ktmiffht stiff and wiry, 
With eye* like a ferret, 
Foreh^id of no merit ; 
Kofic like an ace of Clubs, 
The veriest case of snabs. 
Month like a codfish. 
Or any other odd fish. 
Two broad frying pans 
Call'd by the lying, hands." 

To which that Doctor added : 

" And to finish the figure, 
No courage at the trigger." 

What does the candid reader think 
of this heap of insults? It was much 
as ever I could do, to keep my wrath 
bouled up. However, I comforted 
myself by the remark that listeners 
from time immemorial were never de- 
signed to hear any good of themselves. 
But the slander of ^ fiery red hair" — 
DOW will the reader believe it, there 
is not a particle of that odious color 
aboQi it, o't'JN contrary, it is of that 
delicious ligR auburn that the divine 
Raphael loved to paint; as for my 
iio«e, I never presumed upon its G re- 
dan or Roman cAortf, for I know that 
there u no grace about it, from an un- 
fortunate circumstance in my boyhood ; 
being entrusted to a mere girl, (I hate 
girl Dnrse») who lefi me afler I had 
tallen flat on my face on one part of 
the ice-slide on which she was with a 
long line of street boys recreating. 

The consequence was, as the reader 
may imagine, that the bridge of my 
was not only broken, bat the 

fleshy part so completely frozen as 
never to have recovered since, its full 
vitality. This broken nasal bridge, 
has always been a^* bridge of sighs'* to 
me. As for my hand.>i, they are such 
a size as distinguish the gentleman ; 
but why waste more word8 on such vile 
slander. Now for the denouement ; I 
listened again and heard the wretched 
little syren in the most gentle li.^p ask 
whether herdear lawyer — who it seems 
always managed her aflkirs — whether 
he thought the action would lie ? Ac- 
tion! asked I to myself, **in the name 
of all the Gods at once," what action ? 
That worthy atiirmed it might, with a 
slight erasure of two words, *' horse, and 
cart," substituting instead of them, the 
two euphoniai ^' heart and hand " — Was 
ever such a vile conspiracy — Upon my 
first engaging her as housekeeper, I 
had written to her that she was to give 
herself no trouble about the removal 
of her furniture, as her apartments 
were sufficiently furnished ; if she 
wished otherwise, my horse and cart 
were at her service. • 

These innocent words he proposed 
thus to turn, provided I did not pop 
the important question ; which roost 
indubitably I should have done had it 
not been for this discovery ; but now, 
that proceeding was quite out of the 
question ; her poetical powers and the 
dissimulation and humbug, she and her 
friends had so ruthlessly played upon 
me rendered such a congummcUton de» 
voudy to he shunned. 

Yet despite of her mortifying des* 
cription of my personal qualities, I am 
such an old fool, and have such a melt> 
ing nature, especially when a pretty 
woman is in the case, that I do believe 
I should have forgiven her and mar- 
ried her, if she had shown the slightest 
compunction of remorse at parting. I 
k)oked in vain for the slightest symp- 
tom of it in her delicious eyes ; but 
instead of it, I only perceived a roguish 
twinkle hirking there, ready to mak« 
sport at the first opportunity offered her. 
Finals to Bacuklob PiCMiiy- 





In my childhood or youth, I many 
times used to wish that I could paint a 
picture. I used to wish that I could, 
form the white marhle, chisel out a 
human flo^ure that would almost breathe 
and speak to me ; or that in the loom 
of the wizard fancy, I could weave a 
story or a poem that should melt other 
hearts as mine had oftentimes been 
melted, by the influence of the strange 
imagery that came upon the canvass 
of my brain, that marvelous realm 
which no physical instrument can pen- 
etrate, and who>e mysterious writing 
the spiritual eye alone reads, I of\en 
yearned to embody my soul in some- 
thing that might speak silently to all 
who should come into its presence ; 
that should make them feelyfhvit I felt, 
without saying anything; that should 
command the soul and draw along and 
bear her upward, silently^ I loved 
silence for it is the power of the Soul. 
But I could seldom catch the subtle 
visions, and a dark cloud rose on my 
life just then, which has never left it ; 
and now they do not come to me any 
more as they used to do many years 
ago, oh ! how many ! It seems centuries 
since I was a child and saw these 
things, I wish now, to make a picture 
of childhood, to call back a translated 
form, that may speak to you in few 
words, but which will call up a thou- 
sand memories and speak to you al- 

You knew Nettie well. We all 
knew Nettie ; just as in the North At- 
lantic States everybody knows the vio- 
let or the primrose, and seeks them 
from their very modesty. She has 
gone away now, and when we close 
our eyes and look for her, with the in- 
ner vision and sometimes catch glimpses 
of her in the ** Magic Glass " we see 
her, almost as she was before only less 
earthly; Nettie is to us now a celestial 
figure — and it seems as if she had al- 
ways been such — ^some partition seems 
to have been taken away, so that her 
Iwo existencies have glided into one, 
Mid now her little earthly life seems 

glorified by a radiance streaming over 
it fron^i another world. We have al- 
most instantly forgotten all it« earthly 
elements and it stands in our memories 
now a sanctified life ; and as if it had 
never been anything else — ^passion- 
less — sinless. 

Nettie was a sun-beam in the home 
where she dwelt, bearing light and 
happiness into every recess where her 
presence might enter. The life-plans 
of others might all be defeated — hope 
be crushed-~disapointment and sad- 
ness set on the brow and care and 
anguish complain from the life — but 
Nettie was a child and the hand-writ- 
ing of sorrow was not yet upon her 
brow and the overburdened spirit was 
often beguild from despair by the 
serene illumination of her eye. What- 
ever cloud of sorrow stood over that 
home, the radiance of her spirit gilded 
it and played upon its dark bosom un- 
til the gloom was forgotten in the 
supernal beauty of her light. When 
the storm-wind was abroad, and the 
black tempest hung low and shut out 
the warm sun-light from the earth, 
when the tropical rains flooded all the 
streets and a sense of loneliness and 
desolation brooded on all things, the 
sun-light of her face streamed across 
every hall and into all places. The 
storm might reign without, what mat- 
ter! light was within, the light of a 
child's love, which is eternal. 

In the bright mornings, when the 
great sun poured into the windows his 
wealth of light, she stood there among 
the flowers, — the brightness of the 
morning — the brightest of all flowers — 
brighter than light itself. She stood 
among them as if she was of them, and 
belonged there, and the blue beams 
from her eyes seemed incarnated in 
their white petals. She stood among 
the lilies, — genius of the flowers — 
the angel of purity, — as if the source 
of their embodied loneliness, come to 
bring them their sustenance — light, and 
dew, and rain-drops, and a pure atmos- 
phere. She stood there, their lAiniater, 
dispensing rich ambrosia. 


When the red evening faded behind 
tke limitlew ooean, and the solemn 
light hong ite thick mantle before the 
ran, and in its grandeur, brought a 
hush upon human life, a light still 
flood in the western windows of that 
home. She was the Orient of its morn- 
ings, and the Uesper of its nights— « 
al?er star above the midnight of all 
honaa sadneaa. 

NeUie was a perpetual song in that 
home. Whatever tumult came from 
ihe friction of life around her, what^ 
erer diseord from the heart of care, 
her joong life and heart were only 
iwuical,---and she charmed the jarring 
life anrand her into tone. Her voice, 
ottering the simple impulses of her 
tttore was mosio — singing all daj, the 
cadences of an earthlj joj or the 
hjmniof a higher life — it was melodj/ 
Her tlight frail form, bounding in hap- 
piness along, scarcely touching the 
tsrih, moved rythmicallj. Her very 
«ep was mosic along the hall and on 
the stair. — ^The murmurs of affection, 
|hat were exstaeies, the tones of love 
imperishable, the whispers of sadness, 
that was pity itself, the '^ good night," — 
theg^dwelcome<---the "^good bye" all 
caae m rausie. Her life was a life of 
■ane» and 'tis murmuring yet about 
«. Do joQ not hear it? hush! If 
yon will be quite silent some times and 
liHen, I am sure you will be thrilled 
^ it, for tboogh she has gone, the 
''ODakNis tones of that life and the 
iveet vibraliona ci their departure still 
echo here. 

And this Kghft and song has been 
e^Qed away from that home, from the 
"heart of hearts" where she was en- 
>^Rmed, and from us. But we will 
^ upward aad be silent for ^He 
<k»eth an thing? welL" We will try 
*Bd bear the bereavement* 

Ve believe ahe has gone boick. 
^ went troatangfy. She was not 
^Mkd with fear when the mes- 
*B>|ei^-^eaUed Death — came for her. 
Her ejes only grew large and bright 
^^ veader ai the vimoa she saw. 
He same lika a gaatle angel with an | 
nvcited tordi, and taking her hand, | 

he led her up the long pathway into 
the celestial paradise. She felt she 
was going to receive the beatitudes of 
the Master, and no complaining, no 
murmur, no utterance of fear, came 
from her lips. Only a crystal tear 
stood up on the casket of her soul as 
she lefl it The little form, « beautiful 
even in death " — temple of her gentle 
spirit, — has been quietiy laid away. 
They placed it among the flowers, 

** A child ttuit we have tovcd han gone to heaven 
And by this gate of flowen she panad awaj." 

On the calm bosom of " Lone Moun- 
tain " it has been placed — to rest for- 
ever. It is a silent spot, and when 
you go there sometimes to try to get 
nearer to her, you will hear little, save 
the solemn beat of the Pacific Sea. 
The timid song-sparrow may whistle 
above her pillow sometimes, and the 
humming bird in crimson and emerald 
may whir among the yellow poppies 
upon her couch, — that's all. But the 
boom of the great ocean goes up there 
forever. It is her dirge. 

You will see Nettie with your eyes, 
no more. She has ^*gone before." 
A slight figure wiU glide by you in 
the street sometimes, and you will turn 
to look again, but the illusion will 
vanish, instantly. A blue eye and a 
smile in the crowd will catch yonr 
gaze and hold it a minute, but the 
shifting scene will dispel the vision. 
A sweet voice will come upon your 
ear and you will start quickly, but she 
will not be there. 

Before your mortal eyes ri&e'll come 
no more. But sometimes in the sil- 
ence of sleep, in the ^ starry midnight," 
she will steal quietly before the eyes of 
your soul, and you will see her then, 
standing — a child-spirit among the 
immortal children. She will not speak 
to you. She cannot tell you of the un- 
utterable splendor there. But you will 
know it is Nettie tho' so holy. The 
same calm face and serene beauty and 
8|Hritaal eyes will tell you it is Nettie. 
If she ikauld whisper to you, you could 
oever forget it^ If she should beckon 
to you, you would go to her presently. 



And when your sleep is broken yon 
will wonder that you are not with her. 
So celestial — so sanctified — so im- 
mortal, Nettie stands in our memory. 

A hiksr's bstbbib. 

I am but a dream, time is as eternity, 
seasons and years hold me not, I gaze 
into the wrinkled locks of frosty win- 
ter, ride upon the storm*s dread front, 
look upon the sunshine afar off, lying 
like a sleeping infant cradled in a tropi- 
cal vale. 

My days and years are as the stately 
Missouri, gathering pebbles from the 
glens of the Rocky Mountains, the 
Ohio's wide flood, ranging empires, unit- 
ing and blending in the father of wa- 
ters, the mighty Mississippi, rolling 
into the ocean, in the widened gulf- 
stream, striking against the coasts of 
Labrador, freighted with lofty icebergs, 
casting them upon the coasts of the 
Old World, moving down the slopes of 
Africa, rushing across the Atlantic, up 
and on through the isles of the Ca- 
ribbean Sea, circling on, forever and 

Zoroaster and Mahommed are famil- 
iar companions ; I smile with Heracli- 
tus, and weep with Democritus, upon 
the follies and crimes of men. Space 
is obliterated, I wander with the com- 
ets amidst the stars that roll in their 
orbits along the bounds of the universe, 
and mark their regular and endless 

Then as I grow weary of these, I 
come back again to our earth, sit my- 
self down upon some lofty mountain 
brow and listen, for pastime, to the 
noise and murmur of an assembled 
world, all sounds borne upon the air, 
no matter how harsh the means that 
produce them, or how hoarse they 
grate upon mortal ears, come up unto 
me, mellowed by distance, worn of their 
asperities, undulating as the music of a 
^ftofl lute from some garden bower. 

Then I fly to some overhanging cliff 

that looks out upon the rolling main 
revelling amidst the waters and darl 
rolling billows mingle with the spiri 
of the storm ; and when the waves sub 
side, and the hush of nature is al 
around me, I count the dead swells o 
the sea, and am charmed with thei 
triplicity. The universe to me is \h* 
full chord of one vast diajMison, al 
space is vocal with the music of nature 
perfect in all its parts, boundlessly 
beautifnl, and endless in symphony. 

But alas, flesh and blood chain mt 
to the earth, my spirit's wanderings ar< 
vain and profitless, they bring not focn 
for the body, gor supplies for its varie< 
wants } the sunrise of each day wake 
me to life's stern duties. I toil for dailj 
bread, am pelted by the snows anc 
storms of winter that fall and how 
around my home amid the Sierras. O 
that the God of nature had implanted 
in me, none but aspirations to suppl) 
earthly wants, methinks I had been fai 

I see around me, even in the rockf 
amidst which I toil, the dead relics oi 
fleeting centuries, antediluvian life 
bristles here in its rocky tombs, fossil 
ized and preserved for me to wondei 
upon, study and meditate ; can I refiiM 
to ponder upon these footprints as the] 
rise in succession from group to group ! 
The primeval series, Molusks ao< 
Zoophytes, snails and periwinkles. 

'i heu cephalalares, glyptoHpes, pteri' 
chthys, lischens, mosses, ferns aM 
fungi. Then lizards, crocodiles and alfi 
gators. Then marine mammalia, seak 
grampuses and whales. Then ele 
phants, rhinoceros, hippopottamusci 
ostriches, condors, helmet headed csLsai 
waries, and at last to complete tb 
series of gpradations from the lowest i 
the highest, crowning the whole, is mai 
But when I look within myself as otf 
for the whole, what do I find ? A beiflj 
full of varied instincts, endowed wi£ 
reason and intelligence, capable 4 
mighty deeds ; but chiefly fritting u^w^ 
life's precious moments in endeavoi 
to accomplish unattainable things ; fd 
of lofty aspiratioiiSy fuU of low ad 



grovelling pursuits, performing deeds 
in body and mind that would shame the 
&oe of day, and were thej known unto 
men woQld place many, — -O how infin- 
itely too many I—upon the black rolls of 
iofamy. Yet in me there is a ruling 
instinct high over all, it is an innate 
desire Ibr immortality. I look, guided 
bj thid same instinctive desire, with 
the eye, of observation, and reason, 
thpMigh all time, and see, as above de- 
icribed, development of forms are 
n^ing one above another, each more 
perfect than the former ; this gives me 
idpiraliooa and desires that I too may 

But when I look again, I behold that 
life is bailt opon death, — that the very 
atoms composing our bodies are the 
same that for century upon century, 
have gone to make up all vegetable 
and animal life. I am perhaps at this 
moment, composed of dead serpents, 
monkeys, dogs, mastodons, elephants, 
ete^ that perished in antediluvian 

The very thought in itself is loath- 
tome ; bat then, at times I loathe man- 
kind, and fancy that I can behold in 
the &oes of those around me, the type 
of every animal that ever perished ; 
the hyteoa in one, a prowling demon ; 
the serpent in another, coiling his sub- 
tle fbkls; the lion in another, brave, 
U4d and dauntless. I know that it is 
onefaaritable, but these thoughts are in 
me. I am made up of many conflict- 
iag thoughts. At other moments, be- 
nevofenoe holds my purse-strings, and 
I tcei charity unto all men ; but look- 
tag carefully throughout the universe, 
do I see the evidence there to satisfy 
me of the fulfilment of that desire that 
H in lu all, the paramount wish for hap- 
ptaess and immortality ? 

I see in the broad field of nature, 
marked upon every blade of grass, 
every leaf that trembles in the soft air 
of spring evidence that there is a God ; 
Khere most be a Creator, an intelligence 
above oar own. ^ 

There is in us a greater or less de- 
sire to know more tlmn we can see in 

nature's field, about this Supreme Be- 

I have passed over the tomes of the 
past ; made myself familiar with the 
views of the great men of former ages, 
their schemes of salvation and views 
of immortality ; what they have said 
of the soul and its mysterious connec- 
tions with the body, and I have searc- 
ed profane history in vain for the plan 
of salvation that si^tisfies the full wants 
of the soul. Man could not originate 
the plan, it was left for God himself, 
and fulfilled in the person of Jesus of 
Nazareth. No man ever lived that 
equalled him in beauty and symmetry 
of person, in godUke attributes, and 

Man cannot propose such a plan of 
salvation. The Saviour's death was 
the most sublime scene ever recorded 
in history. " Socrates died like a phi- 
losopher ; but Jesus Christ, like a 

My situation is that of many ; the 
mountains are full of men, toiling for 
subsistance ; they are found in every 
cafion, and on the hill-tops. Many 
have given u]^ in despair, and turned 
drunkards, gamblers, loafers, villains 
and scapegraces. Others have gone 
down to untimely graves, beneath the 
weight of corroding cares ; but I will 
not succumb, nor give up. I will 
maintain my own self-respect and en- 
deavor to deserve the respect of others. 
I as firmly believe that industry, per- 
severance and energy will finally suc- 
ceed, as that there is a future life, of 
which this is hot the beginning ; these 
qualities are always equal to talents, 
and often superior ; thousands of ex- 
amples all over our country, lead me 
onward. '' Excelsior," should be our 
motto under all circumstances. 

No matter how lowly your situation 
or how dejected your thoughts, there is 
hope of success while there is life. 
The whole field of nature was created 
by Grod himself, and given you for a 
heritage. The eardi, the air, the sun 
that illumines the heavens, the stars 
that gem the universe, all, all minister 



to jour pleasure and happiness. And 
Jesus the Son of God, died for jou 
upon Calvary, that eternal life and hap- 
piness maj be jours. That better 
land bejond the grave jou can inherit. 



Thou lovely crimBon Rose, 

Whose eolden heart, 
'Mtdgtits bright petals glows, 

To me thoa azt. 
More than the qu6en of flowers. 

For in thy face, 
The smiles of hi^pier boars. 

Which now I trace, 
Shine on my heart with a sweet pensive 

Like fragrance from the heavenly Aspho- 

Plucked from thy parent stem. 

The first-bom there. 
Where like a radiant gem, 

Enthroned so fair ; 
Amid these hills so wild, 

O did'st thon pine, 
Like some forsaken child. 

Or soul of mine* 
To find a kindred TOlden«heartcd friend, 

With whom thy tonely heart might ever 

'Twas woman's gentle hand, 

That sent to me, 
A stranger in the land, 

Alone like thee, 
Thy fair and lovely form, 

To me a shrine. 
Of friendship pore and warm, 

Or more divine. 
The sympathies of woman's kindl^r heart, 

Widch to my own theaweete^t joys im- 

Thy brilliant leaves may fade, 

But there shall cling, 
The fragrance which has made 

My heart to smg. 
Of friendship's joys so pare, 

And memories dear. 
Which ever shall endure 

While thou art near, 
With all thy cherished sweetnesa to ra- 

Of woman's heart so gentle pare, and 



W. H. D. 

Near PiactrvilU, Ccd,, JU%, 1 857. 

Ho, ho ! ho, ho ! for the mountain!!, 
the snow-capped mountains! where 
rough old Boreas holds his winter reT- 
els, where the summer sun shines 
sweetlj through thick foliage of eyer- 
greens; the birth-place of sparkling 
springs and laughing rivulets; where 
the eagle finds his home, and where 
Nature sitting in all her majesty and 
loveliness, holds perpetual jublilee ! — 
Come with me if you will, to Indepen- 
dence bar, on Nelson Creek. It was 
here that we halted in the fall of '50, 
when on our way to Marysville ; we 
had been many/many miles further 
into the mountains, and had been suc- 
cessful, for we had found what we had 
sought after. Hitherto in all our jour- 
ney ings we had walked, but now Doc*s 
shoes had given out, and his feet were 
very sore, in fact the night previous we 
were obliged to help him into camp. 
Old Bill had been to the mouth of the 
Creek and there learned that a pack- 
train would leave that place for Grass 
Valley after dinner, and upon his re- 
turn proposed that we should ride ; this 
appeared to meet the views of all ; we 
thought it a fine idea, and wondered 
how a ride would seem after so long a 
walk. But Bill said the mules be- 
longed to a Spaniard, and we must find 
some one to interpret for us; after 
searching for some little time ah inter- 
preter was found ; he was a French- 
man, a tery little Frenchman, not over 
five feet in height, and with so much 
hair on the place where his face ought 
to be, that it was somewhat doubtful if 
he had any face ; but there was a pair 
of eyes there, black, sharp, piercing 
eyes ; and he had a voice too, a perfect 
French voice ; so sweet, so musical, in 
short, he was French all over. As he 
approached our party, he indulged in a 
succession of low bows ; French bows ; 
and after embracing each, proceeded 
in very broken English to inform us, 
that by profession he was a Doctor; 
that he spoke the Spanish language aa 



faentlj as he did EnglUh ; that he had 
been unfbrtuDate, and wishes to leave 
the mountains, and will officiate as our 
interpreter. Quite frequently during 
chtse preliminarj remarks, he has fold- 
ed his hand-s placed them upon his 
Momach, and with his head thrown 
back, aad ejes rolling upwards, ejacu- 
lated ^ Ah 1 ma Belle France ! ma 
Belle France ! why for I did leave I 
tbse.** ' He was about to give us the 
Diinute detail of his many afflictions, 
when Phin suddenly brought him to 
boMnewH, by telling him in language 
not aft all French to ^ Dry !" — ^a few 
French apologies for intruding his pri- 
vate affairs upon us and he was ready 
lo attend as* The owner of the train 
was one through whose veins the blood 
of old Spain was flowing ; he w«8 tall 
and straight, with a pleasing counte- 
nance ; from the corrugations of his 
fiwe, and the white so plentifully min- 
gled with his once black hair, I judged 
that he had seen the sun of more than 
6fiy uimmers ; his entire appearance 
was prepossessing, and his manners 
bespoke the gentleman. I became at 
ooce interested in him, and regretted 
ve eoald not converse, that I might 
learn aomeihing of his history, for that 
he had not always been a mule driver 
I felt assured. For the sum of five 
dollars each, including the Frenchman, 
the "^ Capitan" agreed to pack us to 
Grasa Valley. About 1 o'clock the 
party moanted and commenced to as- 
cend the hill — hill we called it, but 
fnNn base to apex 'twas full five miles, 
aad in many phices almost perpendicu- 
kr. The train consisted of thirty 
mules, and besides the owner, the 
Frenchman, and ourselves, five^Va- 
qoeixM." The mules were without bri- 
dlea» aad eaparisoned with pack-nad- 
dies or aparejos upon which we rode. 
To deacribe those saddles^ I am at a 
kkfls ; ia shape they were not unlike a 
joTeaile mattress, firmly secured over 
the mole's back ; the stuffing, however, 
did not in the least resemble that of a 
feather, hair, palm, or even straw roat- 
tittt, biit if leather shavings ever were 

used for such a purpose, then 'twas 
leather shavings we rode upon. We 
found them more comfortable than we 
anticipated, for they were so thick, that 
when going up hill we could assume a 
position very much like sitting upon a 
barrel with our knees bent over the 
head, and a firm grip with our hands 
to the chime ; and thus we rode up the 
steepest acclivities ; when descending 
we reversed our positions and faced the 
tail of the mule. This was a new de- 
gree in equestrianism, and we enjoyed 
it much. Imagine, if you can, this 
party, covered with rags and patches, 
slip-shod, slouched hats, long hair and 
beards, faces rather dark and dirty, 
sitting upon those saddles, and ascend- 
ing or descending some steep acclivity ; 
each with a new clay pipe protruding 
from his mouth, the stem of which is 
at least eighteen inches in length. The 
pipes were purchased at the creek, and 
such satisfaction did they give that they 
were hardly out of our mouths. Many 
were the joyous peals of laughter that 
echoed and re-echoed among those 
woods and hills, for we presented such 
a ludicrous appearance to each other, 
that even Doc who was quite unwell, 
could not refrain from joining in our 
mirth. . It was near night when we 
reached the summit of the hill (?) and 
here we found a cool, refreshing spring, 
and a fine flat covered with rich grass, 
and here we determined to camp. Af- 
ter selecting a spot to spread our blan- 
kets, and having eaten our suppers, we 
gathered about the camp-fires of the 
Mexicans, smoked our pipes, and wit- 
nessed the manufactory of Tortillios- 
teres as follows : each one took a piece 
of dough about the size of a small egg, 
this they commence to press between 
the palms of their hands, and then to 
throw from one to the other, until it 
was as thin as a wafer and large enough 
to cover a dinner-plate; it was then 
thrown upon hot coals, and in a few 
seconds cooked. The vaqueros con- 
tinued to make and cook tortillios, un- 
til a small siased pile had accumulated, 
I should say about three feet six inches 



in height (!) they then " went in/' and 
we smoked our pipes and gazed with 
astonishment as the monument disap- 

We carried our gold between the 
folds of dur handkerchiefs — ^those of us 
who were fortunate enough to have 
one, those less fortunate, in strips of 
flour-bag, — secured around us, just 
above the waistband of our pants, ^nd 
beneath our shirts — ^the little French- 
man discovered the location of it, and 
familiarly touched old BlufiTs treasure, 
making at the same time some very 
happy remarks — ^neither the action or 
remarks were favorably received by 
Bluff, who putting his huge fist very 
near the little fellow's face, advised 
him to '^ take care I or 111 knock the 
top of your head off." 

The adjacent hills, the trees and 
everything was clothed with night — 
the camp-fire had dwindled do^vn un- 
til but here and there a spark flickered, 
and then, went out — myriads of stars 
were twinkling up above, and the last 
whiff from our pipes was winding' and 
circling the air, 'ere we proposed to 
turn in. The Frenchman who had 
been sitting with the vaqueros, aside 
from us, now approached and invited 
us to sleep with him — he had selected 
such a lovely spot, beneath the extend- 
ing branches of a huge old pine — the 
grass was so heavy there, and it would 
be so much more secure, as well as 
pleasant to sleep together — ^to all his 
entreaties we werid deaf, and turned in 
between our own blankets, and upon 
the ground we had ourselves selected — 
it was not 'til now, that a suspicion 
flashed across our minds, that we 
might be in bad company, and after 
comparing notes, we brought to mind 
several suspicious circumstances in 
connection with our French friend — 
but as we were well armed, and feel- 
ing strong in numbers, we apprehended 
but little danger and — went to sleep. 
Just as the gray of dawn came peep- 
ing o'er the hills — just at that time 
when the darkness wavers, 'ere it dis- 
appears — just as day came struggling 

into life, we were awake and just as 
* old sol ' came creeping from his moun- 
tain bed, we were leaving camp. About 
noon we arrived in Grass Valley, and 
finding good grass and water about one 
mile from the settlement, the owner of 
the train concluded to camp there, and 
we, telling him that we wanted to settle 
with him in town, went on and estab- 
lished ourselves at the most fashion- 
able hotel — which consisted of ei|{ht 
upright posts, covered with brown 
muslin, and furnished with a bar and . 
table — the bar, comprised a board over 
a barrel, two tin cups and a black bot- 
tle — ^the table, a board over two barrels, 
and when *set' presented an array of 
tin plates, and rusty knives. The 
Kitchen was behind the house^-out of 
doors. The culinary utensils included 
a fry-pan, camp-kettle, coffee-pot, and — 
that was all. But we were comfort- 
able, and " laid back " happy and con- 
tended, if only from the fun that we 
had at length found some one to cook 
for us* We had been at our hotel less 
than an hour when our interpreter 
made his appearance, and stated that 
if agreeable to us, he would receive 
our fares for the Spaniard — not dream- 
ing of any deception, we paid him. A 
short time after, the old Spaniigrd came 
in, and through an interpreter, who he 
had found in the valley, informed us 
that his business was to collect our pas- 
sage money. He was rather 8urpris«*d 
to learn that the Frenchman had re- 
ceived it, and said that he was not 
authorized to do so, but he presumed 
it was all right One hour later he 
returned in a state of great excitement, 
he could not find the Frenchman, and 
some one during his absenee from 
camp, had been there and stolen all of 
his money — about $1200. It must 
have been the Frenchman — we readily 
and at once assisted to hunt for him, 
we aroused the camp— parties went out 
in every direction, — but our search was 
of no avail| he had gone. This was a 
severe blow to the Spaniard, and al- 
though years ago, I can well remember 
how he looked, and can see him now. 



M I aaw him then, — standing there with 
dasped haocb, his head unooyered, and 
those graj locks flutttering wildly on 
the evening breeze — every feature 
seemed impressed with anguish, and 
looder than words, told how heavily 
the blow had fallen. I afterwards 
learned that this was but one of a 
fleriea of misfortunes which had be- 
fidlen him, and they of late had tome 
so &8t and thick, that the poor old 
man was well nigh ruined. We felt 
sincerely sorry for him, but that of 
coarse did not help him any, his pride 
would not allow him to receive money 
from ns — and so we parted. Some 
eighteen months afler I met with him 
in San Francisco, and learned from 
him, that fortune having at length 
smiled, he was * en route ' for his home 
in Mexico. Of the Frenchman I have 
nothing positive to relate, but as I was 
perambulating the streets of San Fran- 
cisco about four years ago, I observed 
a party of men at work; as I drew 
nearer to them, I noticed that attached 
to their ankles, were some curious iron 
ornaments^ — and among the party, one 
who bore a very marked resemblance 
to onr French interpreter. 




Let dM caanon'i load thunder on every ear 
Wbfle onr flags are anfnrled to the breese, 
Mklft the blenings of peace, we rejoice in the 

That diealt death on the land and the Mas. 
Tee, death to the tyrants who came as fierce 
To fetter ow IhChen with chains, 
When liberty's sun o 'er onr nation arose, 
To jeiude and cheer onward the spirits of 
Whose glory forercr remains. 


Rnoiee hi the day when onr nation was bom, 

Than oar fathers resolred to be free ; 
Man fiiir was its advent, a radient mom. 

Bat fiurer its noon-tide shall be ; 
Itt fiuee is now spreading fiir over the earth. 

All nations its glories shall see, 
TQl Tfrrj land shall be proud of its worth. 
And figh for the gnuulear, and beauty, and 

Of those who am equal and free. 


Let our heart-songs of freedain ring out to the 
For our nation is happy and free ^ 
While our banners in glory are waTiiig unfurl- 
As signals of triumphs to be. 
Most dear to our hearts shall be Washington's 
That stands like a mountain of lighl, 
His grandeur, and goodness, and greatness 

Hoyir great was the cause that enlisted his 
In freedom's most perilous fight. 

We '11 shout the loud paedns ! rejoice ! then 
rejoice 1 
As brothers we stand in our might, 
Forerer proclaiming with eloquent voice. 

We are free to do only the right. 
This nerved the strong arms mid the battle's 
fierce shock. 
This gave courage to hearts that were brave. 
Midst famine and perils they stood like the 

Unmoved when the finger of fate seemed to 
For they knew the Almighty would save. 


Let the cannon's loud thunder on every ear 
Wnile our flags are unfurled to the breeze. 
Midst the blessings of peace we rejoice in the 
That dealt death on the land and the seas ; 
Tes, death to the tyrants who came as fierce 
To fetter our fathers with chains. 
When Liberty's sun o'er our nation arose. 
To guide and cheer onward the spirits of 
Whose pure fame all hallowed remains. 

Coon Hoaow, Cat, Junt, 1857. w. U, D. 


Several feet below the sarface, in the 
gravel, and among the roots of a noble pine 
tree, over foaf feet in diameter, and grow- 
ing on WeavffTville creek, Trinity County, 
neer the town of Weaverville, a gentleman 
named Fonts, in the winter of 1850, while 
mining, found a small, neatly worked neck- 
lace, made of lignam-vitae wood, threaded 
on fine gold wire; and attached thereto 
was I beautifully chased and highly finish- 
ed cross of gold. 

Now, will some one account for its exis- 
tence — there, — or answer — How came 
it there? 




It may appear to many like a misno- 
mer, to speak of the Moral heart of 
Oftlifomia ; but it is not ; there is no 
misnaming about it ^ for though in the 
great heart-throbbings of our people, 
the '^ almighty dollar," and the efforts 
for its procurement, seem to be the 
mainspring of our action, a principle 
impelling as with an electric speed and 
power, the minds of the masses, re- 
gardless of the wear upon the moral 
heart, still there is a recuperative prin- 
ciple, a power in goodness and morality, 
that in spite of every neglect, will 
sooner or later triumph over vice, er- 
ror, immorality, and their consequences. 

With the first dawn of our exist- 
ence as a State of the Confederacy, 
we were isolated and distant from all 
the more halloif ed and refined influ- 
ences of an enlightened civilization. 
The great body of our people possess- 
ed in an eminent degree, the reckless 
daring, and spirit, of adventurers ; and 
it was, as it always is — to say the least 
of it — coupled with a recklessness of 
the moral heart; a carelessness in 
keeping sentinel over passions and de- 
sires the most diiRcult of control when 
untrammeled and freed from the con 
ventional usages of a more elevated 
and refined society. 

As a consequence, violence was done 
to the moral heart, and however well 
it may have seemed to answer the ends 
and purposes of an unscrupulous am- 
bition in fostering individual aggran- 
disement, the result has been a disease 
of the moral heart ; and so deep and 
hideously apparent is the plague-spot, 
that the broad mantle of charity even, 
can no longer hide it ; for the world 
knows it. And yet the world looks 

upon California, as truthfully she is, 
a golden Goddess, beautifully jeweled, 
and enshrined in outward magnificence ; 
but with all her beauty marred and 
impaired, by the blemish upon her 
moral heart. 

It is thus we find her ; rich and pros- 
perous in everything that eonstitutes a 
superficial splendour, even to the throw- 
ing off of two millions of golden jew- 
els semi-monthly ; and yet, possessing a 
leprous moral heiurt 

It is not our purpose to charge upon 
any class or party of men, political 
or religious, as being peculiarly the 
cause of our present morally depressed 
condition. It is enough, and bad 
enough, that the fact exists; but our 
object is, or would be were it possible, 
to bring Californians to think and be- 
lieve in the necessity of a more eleva- 
ted standard of morality. Nothing 
but a proper appreciation of this ne- 
cessity is wanting to render California 
in many respects, the terrestrial para- 
dise of the human race. 

To accomplish this the moral heart 
must first beat with a calm and regu- 
lar pulsation. This can only be se- 
cured by the proper fiow of pure and 
uncontaminated blood, performing the 
life-functions of our government To 
secure this, such men only should be 
entrusted with the power, as possess a 
high moral principle, and an interest 
in the honor and prosperity of the 

Already is the Press of a portion of 
the State at least, eloquent in its ap- 
peals to the patriotism (?) of the peo- 
ple. A portion are devoted to the 
support of one man as an exponent of 
principles or of party; and another 
portion, to men of an oppotdte political 



Mth, or opposing party; and both, 
without the slightest allusion to the 
moral character of either. 

The fact is, it has become dangerous 
for political parties to make inquiry 
as to the moral antecedents of parti- 
»ans, as candidates for office; and when 
such inquiry is made, and the odium 
of easy morality is incontroTcrtibly 
established, it seems too often but the 
prestige or sure stepping-stone to po- 
litical success and preferment. 

Now this could not be, if the great 
Borai heart of the masses beat with 
pore and strong pulsations — such as 
alone can make a people individually 
eoDlented and happy, and the common- 
wealth pToeperous. To place us, or 
bring OS as a people, upon an equality 
in every respect, with the most favored 
opoD God's earth, it is only necessary 
that the will of the people goes out in 
th« choice of the rulers and directors 
of the State's interests, in the direction 
only, in which men of sterling moral 
principle can be found. 

Every other experiment has been 
rMorted to, and signally failed. Now 
let OS for once at least, at the approach- 
mg political campaign, try the expert- 
meni of acting from a higher and ho- 
lier impulse than party expediency, or 
the preferment of zealous partisans be- 
cause they are such, regardless of their 
high moral worth, and intellectual abil- 

The ontrammeled exercise of a high 
aonl principle in our political action, 
and inculcating the doctrine that such 
aa attainment is indispensable in those 
with whom we are to entrust our inter- 
ens, can alone erase the one foul stain 
that now mars the otherwise brilliant 
kiitory of our State's progress. Ev- 

ery true-hearted patriot must feel that 
the time for a nobler political existence 
for California has fully come, and we 
ask earnestly — that every true Califcir- 
nian should lend a strong hand and 
heart to ilf^er in the glorious advent, 
by voting only for honest, moral, and 
capable men. 



AdicQ 1 Adioa ! my ctibin home, 
Each knotty log, adiea ! 

I'll ne'er foiiget thee, thoagh I roam 
Mountains and valleys throngfa. 

Together here companions, we 
Have bvared rade winter's blasts ; 

And oft from storms youVe sheltered mo- 
Bat we most part at last. 

Each log to me a brother seejns, 

Thy dear old roof, a mother. 
Thy gladsome hearth, a sister dear. 

And thon, a kind old Father. 
With each and all I've oft oommoned. 

My lonesome hours to ease ; 
And sitting here, my late oft tuned. 

In concord with the breeze. 

And thou, my faithful guardian dear, 

Thy lonely watch hath stood ; 
Protecting me from every fear, 

In this wild, tangled wood — 
With sad and heavy heart I linger, 

Thy door-way round about. 
While each dear thing familiar 

With silence 's speaking out. 

Adieu ! adieu 1 I must not stop, 

I "11 summon all my will, 
For tears are gathering drop by drop, 

And falling on thy sill— 
I '11 double lock and' bar thy door ! 

No wanton foot astray, 
Shall tread or desecrate thy floor. 

While I am far away. 

I '11 not foi^et the homv of bliss 

Passed 'neath thy friendly roof. 
And if thon hadst but lips to kiss 

I 'd give thee burning proof— 
And here I '11 pledge a nnner's word. 

Pledged by his lutpe for rain. 
That when old Winter's blasts are heaid 

I '11 live with thee again. 



®ift8 ®®(j^jja ®5).©^» 

We have often thought and felt that an 
oi^rsight occnied at the commencement of 
this SCagazine; that we did not set iq>art 
some jovial comer for sunny ani social in- 
tcrcoune with oar fun-loving readers ; where 
in a diattj and familiar way all sorts of good- 
humored things could be said or quoted in a 
good-humored way, for the amusement and 
improvement of us all. 

** Laagh tnd grow flit," 

is a very old, but very expressive aphorism, 
and we find but few, very few, who have not 
a preference for that exercise to most others. 

For ourselves we were going to say, that 
we love fun, (if "love" can bo applied with- 
out profanity to other than the opposite sexes 
of mankind, and to Deity, which we think it 
cannot. We once heard a lady exclaim 

" Oh I I do love pickled herrings" (!) 

"No, my dear," gently suggested her 
spouse, " you hve your husband." 

"Dearest, I stand corrected," was the 
prompt and affectionate rejoinder) but if the 
reader please, we will say instead, that we like 
fun, and all the good jokes and useful sug- 
gestions we can secure at all suitable times 
and seasons, and we hope that our readers 
will just make themselves at home, and say 
just what they please that may be provocative 
of mirth, to this " Our Social Chaur," as it is 
here for that purpose. 

As all things must have a commencement, 
we propose to set the ball rolling by saying 
that before this Social Chair lie Magazines, 
Newspapers and so forth, from all parts of the 
world, and — California! The uppermost, 
and one of the most welcome of these is 
"The Old Mountaineer," from Plumas 
County. Having just arrived, and being 
dated May 7th, we are led to tiie conclusion 
that it must have had a hard time of it some- 
where. At first we supposed it possible that 
old Winter had way-laid the Expressman, 
and covered him up with his hoary beard in 
some deep caiSon, and the papers with him, 
but we immediately repudiated that idea as 
very fallacious and improbable, knowing that 
the genial warmth and good-humor of " The 
Old Mountaineer" would have thawed its 

way out through the snowy locks, or even 
the very heart of that stem and ancom- 
promising old Annual. We therefore con- 
cluded that some one of Uncle Samuers Jast 
mail institutions had imprisoned it in some 
unprospected comer of a (facetiously named) 
" Mail Bag," and which we especially regret 
as that paper contains the tidings of the ed- 
itor's having committed matrimony (!) At 
such a time of all others, we suggest that the 
gentle reader " Hear him for his cause." With 
us he has the floor — no, we mean the " So- 
cial Chair." 

"Masbisd, in Qnincy, Plumas County, on 
the evening of Mav Ist, by His Honor, Judge 
Goodwin, Mr. Johk K. Lovbjoy, Editor 
of the "Old Mountaineer," and Miss H. A. 

Bring ont the big guu made of toMs, 
\N hat fbrges Julv thunder, 
Bring out the flag of Bennington, 
For we've entered into the state of connablal 
feUcUty* and " gone under." 

Hurrah for our side 1 Aint we a happy 
follow — sot a wife of our own — sha'nt trtmble 
our neighbors-^on't ask 'em any boot — ^will 
neither borrow nor lend no-how — W-hoopa! 
and crinoline 1 Git up and shake yourselves — 
weep and howl 1 you outtonless, old bachelors, 
for your sins hang heavily on you ; why you 
are of no earthly use, or as the sweet Psalm- 
ist fitly expresses it 'outen' the Psalms — 
[a long way ont, eh ?] (we've forgot the chap- 
ter and verse — ^wish we could forget about a 
few new dresses 'fore long, as easy, — ^hey I) 

" A bachelor *■ a hob-nail, 
And nuta for want of nie, air.'* 

We've got the advantage of you every way 
— got somebody to box our ears— comb our 
blessed gray hairs, what were goin' down in 
sorrow — ^mend our ways, and unmentionables 
— ^lighten our cares and bread — provided she 
can get flour— powerful scarce just now, — and 
instead of commg home at midnight and go 
sneaking into a room, the floor all covered 
over with stumps of cigars, old chews of to- 
bacco, old dirty clothes, and getting into an 
old raeged bunk, — a flint rock compared with 
it would be cotton — we— that is us — " early 
to bed and late to rise" — ^you all know tfaie 
adage — ^we come home — room nicely carpeted 
— slippers ready — well, we are not going to 
tell you half we know, for fear von migltt 
envy us, and that 'aint Christian-like. 

We had several reasons for pursuing the 
course we have — ^wanted a " local item" for 
our next " issue" — the " sheets" must be filled 
up — "impressions" must be made, or our " ty- 
pographical" brethren would raise a muss^ 



md besides this, we had to get up an ex.- 
ritement, and prove to oar friends that we 
were cftoable of seizing those advantages, 
** created tor the nse and benefit of man/' 
which we hope may prove " satisfiictory/' to 
all of them. 

Well, we wish oonelves " much joy,*^! and 
all those little happinesses that are nsaallj 
oonnccted with deeds of this character, and 
in connection with this matter, we would del- 
iestel J hint to oar snbscribers, that we want 
thnn to *' pangle/' "see as," *' pay np" as we 
have another month to feed, with prospective 
probabilities, in the fatnre. "'Tis distance 
lends enchantment to the view," but we 
ronclnded to hanl in old enchantment, and 
nop his lendinfT* end nse him onrself. We 
farther eonclndcd that we had been derelict 
and ** shiftless'* long enough — that one could 
Bot be m good citizen unless he was acting for 
his coontry's welfare. In conclusion, "we 
hope these few lines may find you enjoying 
the same God's blessing/' So mote it be." 

Jost give us your U^, Lovcjoy, if then is 

who wishes you more joy than we do, 

OS his dagnerreotype, that's all I 

There is so much truthfhlnes in the follow- 
ing sentiment from the same " Old Mountain- 
'* that we know our readers will endorse 
the pore gold of their own experience in 
mooey-hnnting, hair-whitening, haste- 
niaking4o-be-rich, land of feverish excite- 
ment, and we give it without apology. 

" The world glides on apace, and we foreffo 
alt the pastimes and pleasures of life, for the 
Wtll-o-wisp of fortune, which after leading us 
tbrooich tlwmy brakes, and over, sharp rocks, 
and \n devious paths, leaves us at last mired 
in a sloogh of cares, embracing bitter decep- 



The following clippings from the spirited, 
rmej, and ably-edited" Graham's Magazine— 
\ ome of the very best of our eastern ex- 
rill perhaps cause some to regret 
that onr California female population is so 
small in proportion to the male— being only 
about one in five— as it presents so many se- 
rioos draw-backs to such a pleasant pastime. 

" When we remember the immense influ* 
cnee which kisses have had in history," writes 
one of o«r best friends-—" I do not wonder, 
dear sir, that ^t>u should have given a chap- 
ter to the subject, in one of your late Gra- 
ham's. For— 

** Wa» It not loT« that made Mark Anttaonjr 
TtoM «p hto ktaMtdoiiM for one ferrld Um 
Trom Cc7Pt'> npett Queen ?" 

On this hint we went to worii and gathered 
few more of these ruby gems^-these wine- 
electric thriUs of poetry, for onr 

readers — in fact for our fair readers, to tell 
the truth — ^presuming them to have the just 
appreciation of the beautiful. Take the an- 


The fonnUln mhiRlee with the river, 

The river with the ocean. 
The wlnda of heaven mix forever, 

W|A a sweet conmiotlon. 
Nothing on the earth is single, 

All^lngs by a law divine 
In another being mingle. 

Why not I with mine? 

See the mountains kiss high heaven. 

And the waves clasp one another; 
No leaf or flower would be forgiven. 

If It disdained to kiss lU brother. 
And the sunlight clasps the earth. 

And the moonbeams kiss the sea, 
But, what are all these Maslngs worth, 

If thou lUss not me ? 

If ;jron want to kiss a pretty girl, why kiss 
her — if you can. If a pretty girl wants to 
kiss you, why let her — ^like a man. But— 


I Uased a maid the ottier night ; 

But who she was I may not tell ; 
Her eyea were as the diamonds bright. 

And soft as those of iMbel— 

But I never kls« and t«U. 

H0r breast a bank of virgin snow, 
Wherpon no thought of sin should dwell. 

Her voice was veiy sweet and low. 
And Uke the voice of Isabel— 

But I never kiss and telL 

Her lips are cherries sweet and red. 

And she was shy as a gazelle : 
She kissed me back— and then she fled, 

Juat Uke onr charming Isabel— 

But I never kiss and telL 

Ths Rouoh AND TuMBLB KiBs. — The 
neatest of all neat things, the stoiy of the 
Widow Lambkin, of whom Dr. Meadows 
took so much toll when thev crossed the 
bridge on a sleigh ride, reminds me, says a 
down east friend, of one of our Maine young 
fellows, who thus describes his battle and final 
victory, in a fair fight for a kiss of his sweet* 

" Ah I now, Sarah dear, give me a kiss — 

" I won't 1 so there now." 

" Then I shall have to take it whether or 




'< Take it if yon dare I' 

So at it he went, rough and tumble. An 
awful destmction of stareh now commenced. 

" The hojr of my cravat was squat up in 
less than no time. At the next bout, smash 
went the shirt collar, and at the same time 
some of the head fastenings gave way, and 
down came Sally's hair, like a flood in a mill 
dam broke loose, carrying away half a dozen 
combs. One plunge of Salljrs elbow, and 
my blooming bosom ruffles wilted to the con- 
sistency and form of an after-dinner napkin. 
But she had no time to boast. Soon her neck 
tackling began to sever, parted at the throat, 
away went a string of wnite beads, scamper- 
ing and running races every way you could 
thmk of about the floor. She fonsht fair I 
must admit ; and when she could fight no 
longer, for want of breath, she vielded hand- 
somely ; her arms fell down by her side— 

HUTCHnms' cAjJFOBmx maoazine. 

tfiose long, ronnd, roey ann6 — her hair hung 
back over the chair, her eves were half shut, 
as if she were not able to bold them open a 
minute longer, and there lay a little plump 
mouth all in the air ! My goodness 1 did yon 
ever see a hawk pounce on a robin, or a bee 
on a clover top ? Even so I settled ; and 
when she came too and threw up Ibose arms, 
and seized me around the neck, and declared 
she'd choke me if ever I did so «gain, and 
had a great mind to do it now, I just ran the 
risk over agam, and the more she choked me 
the better I liked it ; and now she puts her 
arms around my neck, and puts her own lips 
in the way of mine every day, and calls me 
her John, and don't make any fuss abont it at 
all. That was a very sensible girl, and she 
makes a good wife, too, as I am not ashamed 
to say anywhere." 

Some prudish specimens of age-advanced 
humanity may be somewhat taken aback 
at the first sight of the above chaste and 
beantifnl pieces, and yet if they are honest 
and candid, will confess that after all, kissing 
is very pleasant and very natural, and that 
they have been as fond of it — ^if they are not 
now — as the youngest of our readers. 

One fact is clear to us, that were there 
more innocent youthful amusements; and 
more pleasant, joyous, social and unrestrained 
open-hearted — ^bnt not indiscriminate — inter- 
course between the sexes in CaKfomia, there 
would be a less tendency to premature and 
vnsuitable unions ; and young persons would 
be less liable to think themselves "men" and 
** women" when they were but mere boys and 
girls. We invite the thoughtful, carefully to 
think the matter over, and let us hear from 

Some lonely old bachelor, who signs him- 
self " a subscriber," sends us the following, 
which we give, with this advice : Don't shut 
your eyes when you might see.— 


Afar from the citv, lis turmoil and Rtrlfe, 

Badly and wearilv wean out mv life, 
Katnre's fair Mcenes bave no channs for my mlod, 

Peace and content must I seek, but not find. 
OiM tblne Is wanting my dull life to cheer— 

A. eweet voice whose tones would be music to hear, 
A fair faoe, loving eyes, and mild as the dove ; 

It la— tome oo^ to love I—eome one to love. 

•ome one to love !— how my heart swells with Joy ! 

O I It were happiness, flnee fVom alloy. 
iy> know of a fiiir one who'd share my lone cot, 

Who would cliog to me oloeely, though humble my 
Could she, foraaking all, concert and play 

Far from the pleasares of cltv lift stiay. 
Could she but do this for me, then she would prove 

To DM— aome one to lore 1 some one to love ! 

Tears roav roll on, like a sad stailesi night, 
Btlll will I hope for the dawning of light; 

StOl will I hope that the long wished for wax 
Hay yet shine to gladden my dark lonely ray. 

In dreams I oft see her, oft hear her sweet vowe. 
Bat waken to sadness, no more to rejoice; 

Did I know where to seek her— fkr, fkr would I rove 
To find some one to love ! some one to love ! 

Somewhat Singular — ^That ministers of 
the gospel unll preach long sermons, when 
nineteen twentieths of their congregation 
prefer, and profit more by short ones. 

A few weeks ago we were spending a Sab- 
bath in Marysville, and wishing to hear a 
celebrated divine, we inquired of some stran- 
ger whom we met, if he would be kind enough 

to inform us where to find the charchi 

" Do yon see that building yonder V* said he, 

" Yes." 

" That is the Court House— that's not it ! 

but when you come to the cross street on this 

side of that, yon look on one side, and yon'l 

see a building resembling a grave-j/ard on tAs 

kurrieane deck /—that's it." 

Well, we thought that is no doubt an hon- 
est confession of his impressions of that build- 
ing — and perhaps of the religious services 
within it — and which although doubtless very 
unjust are neverdicless his unvarnished im- 
pressions. Then we thonght further that as 
the green fields and the bright flowers, and the 
blue sky, and the joy-giving sunshine, and the 
cherrily singing birds all in union, were in- 
tended to make cheerful God's great temple, 
why should those built by man be made 
leas so. Is it not a mistake— a serious mis- 
take of the truly devout worshipper that first 
impressions (vVhich are generally the most 
lasting) should be unfavorable to the outsider 
and the passer-by ? 

We have many times too, wished to inquire 
that if the human face is an index to the feel- 
ings and traits of the soul, and good religious 
people confess themselves to be completely 
happy — how is it that so many of them wear 
such long faces ? We simply ask for infor- 

We hope that the boys in the mountains, 
and onr good contributor "Joe,'* will oblige 
the fair writer of the following epistle, and 
our readers generally, by laying its contents 
to heart 


Saw Frawcisco, June, 7, 1857. 
Dear ^roe^^n .—There's a sigh in my 
heart to-night because I have been reading 



iiead Joe's last " Rmlizaiion q^ fmf coneep- 

I am verj sonj that he has gireo 
vp vritang for the Magazine, as it was always 
a flource of pleasore for me to penue his arti- 
cles therein, and I am sure there are many 
•cheri who appreciated them as much as 1. 
I had begun to feel as though Joe, Ben and 
Charlej were my old friends, but how changed, 
haw broken I If tears of heart-felt sorrow 
did coarse down mj cheek whilst reading of 
poor Ben's death, and Charley's departore for 
the States, it was no shame ; no more than 
aaj sTmpathising sister would have done. 
May Chaiiey be happy in his reunion with the 
bTcd ones, and may poor Ben rest in peace ; 
Bay his sleep be sweet. I would that I conld 
go erery day and wreathe bright evergreens 
lod sweet perfumed flowers o'er his grave. 
Twas baiti to give him up, but — 

ItoiiMM.kctofOMl Hb lUb-baimer't ftirlad, 
lad the loved ao9 naU in ft twMt peacalbl worid. 

Mend Joe» could you and Charley not have 
placed a tombstone at the head oi good, gen- 
erooa-bearted Ben, who first proposed the 
etectkMi of one to the memory of Edward 
Story f He was so anxious that oblirion 
sboold WH entirely shroud his memory. 

I hope that yoa will commence a new se- 
ries of articles for the " Magazine,"as they 
wQl not only afford a pleasure to the reao- 
«a b«t giTO a glorious one to yourself. 

k is Sandajr, broCben, and as I sit writing 

to yout th»^nrch-bell8 are chiming muBicaUy» 
and fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters and 
strangers are wending their way to the temple 
of God. I wonder what yon are doing on 
this lovely Sabbath ? I asked friend Billie 
at my elbow fwho has been tormenting me 
almost to death by tickling my ears with a 
broom-straw,) and he suggests "washing 
shirts" and " eating slap-jadts," but I don't 
believe it. It's too glorious a day for wash- 
ing — and as for slap-jacks, or jack-slaps, or 
whatever you call them (I'm not from Bos- 
ton and therefore am not well acquainted with 
the name) why I know you don't value them 
as a great luxury, because you have too many 
of them. 

But as I said before — wonder what you are 
doing 1 /know. Beading; enjoying a qniet 
reverie, or taking a walk I £&ncy — and yea 
would like to know, what the loved ones at 
home are engaged in — you wish that you were 
there, or that you conld just take one look 
into the house this evenmg. So do I wish 
that I conld peep in at your window or door, 
and see what you are about. Ah yes I some 
of you are wading back through the old path 
of memory, and others are plunging into the 
''uncertain future" — and /, oh dear me, 
Mother's calling me, and it's either to give 
me a scolding or something nice. So I must 
say, Gk>od bye, for the present. 

Affectionately yours, Sistsh Mat. 

ITrierarj Jflte. 

Bmarw k Rrr*8 Map of tkB StaU q/ Qd- 
l^ftnua; eompUed irom the U. 8. Land and 
Goaal nrreya, (he several ICUitary, Soientifio, 
md B^lroad Sxplorationa» the State and Conn 
ty Boondary Surveys, made under the order 
ef tha Svreyor General of Calilbniia, and 
priTata Surveys — By Giobob H. Go»- 
a K.^<3onpleted with additiona and 
up to the day of pubKcatioii from 
U. & Land OAoa, and odier rellaUe 

bii with great pleasure ibal we nolice the 

and pubBeation of thia aew and 

M H» of Galifbmia ; and we ooograt- 

tba tadnstrioaa oonpiler and the enter- 

poblfshere that after so mueh kbar, 

, ear«, and expense, they are enabled 

bdhretbeVubKe so beautiful and per* 

who la unfanfflar with Ibe bbo- 


rious and complicated details of such an en- 
terprise, can properly appreciate or fully com- 
prehend the difficulties attendant upon the 
tsflk, especially in a new and mountainous 
State like our own ; comprising, as it doea, 
over ninety-nine millions of acres of land. 

Mr. Goddard, to our knowledge, has been 
several years engsged in this useful and dif- 
ficult undertaking, assiduously seeking infor- 
mation firora every reliable souree, bendes per- 
sonally roughing it himself among the moua- 
tains for purposes of observation and informa- 
tion ; and we doubt not the public will prove 
their appreciation of the united labors of eom- 
piler and publishers by the encouragement 
they now extend to this valuable enterprise ; 
and every office, school-room, hotel, and pri- 
vate dwelling, throughout the State, have thia 

useful and excellent map upon Its walls, as it 
in every way deserves. 



San FranctBco Pictorial Maga zine * ^N agiee & 
Schwartz, pablishers, 58 Montgomery St., 
San Francisco. 

This is the title of a new semi-monthly mag- 
azine, the first No. of which has been l^anded 
to ns, which is conrteoosly and modestly 
asking a favorable reception from the pnblic. 

It is a work of sixteen quarto pages, well 
written, beaatifally printed on good paper, 
with three spirited lithographic views of Kic- 
aragna. Its merits can hardly fail to be ap- 
preciated by all who desire to see sach a 
work saccessfnl. We sincerely wish that its 
publishers may secure a large measure of 

mat$ Mk 


In presenting our readers with the first 
number of 'the second volume of the Califor- 
nia Magazine, it may not be considered inop- 
portune now to recur to the general outline 
given in our introductory one year ago, of 
what it was our wish this work should be to 
California. We then said : 

" It is our hope, as it will be our aim, to 
make our monthly visits to your fireside as 
welcome as the cheerful countenance and so- 
cial converse of some dear old friend, who 
just drops in, in a friendly way, to spend the 

» We wish to picture California, and Califor- 
nia life ; to portray its beautiful scenery and 
curiosities ; to speak of its mineral and agri- 
cultural products ; to tell of its wonderful 
resources and commercial advantages ; and to 
give utterance to the inner life and experience 
of its people, in their aspirations, hopes, dis- 
appointments and * successes— the lights and 
shadows of daily life. 

Whatever is noble, manly, useful, intellect- 
ual, amusing and refining, we shall welcome 
to our columns. 

It will ever be our pride and pleasure to be 
<m the side of virtue, morality, religion and 

We shall admit nothing that is partizan in 
politics or sectarian in religion ; but, claiming 
the right to please ourselves, we shall accord 
to the reader the same privilege. 

Whatever we believe to be for the perma- 
nent prosperity of California, we shall fear- 
lessly advocate, in any way that suits ns. 

We have no expectation of pleasing every 
one; nor, that perfection will be written upon 
every page of its contents, for the simple rea- 
son that we are human ; but we shall do our 
beat, conttnnally. 

We have commenced its publication with 
the hope of filling a void— humbly it may be 
^in the wants of California, and the intelli- 

gent reader will see at a glance that the costly 
manner in which it is gotten up, and the price 
at which it is sold, the publishers rely upon a 
wide drcuUttion for their pecuniary reward." 

The favorable manner in which this work 
has been received by the public — ^with all its 
imperfections^ while it proves that we have 
not been disappointed, g^ves us the assurance 
that by the cordial co-operation of readers and 
contributors, and devoting ourselves constant- 
ly to the steady improvement of its contents, 
we shall be able to produce in the coming 
year, a much more beautiful and interesting 
magazine than heretofore ; and one in everj 
way mora worthy of the intelligence and great- 
ness of the State it is our proud privilege to 
call HOKB, — even our own California. 

To our contributon we would say, give the 
utmost care to the writing of your articles, so 
that you may feel that they are in every way 
worthy of the mental strength of the great 
State you represent, and of the family of 
which yon may justly be proud to be an indi- 
vidual member. 

There is one fact we wish to mention, and 
we do it with great pleasure;— several of the 
ablest, and oldest, and best of California's 
writers, have thought proper to commend the 
earnest California spirit we have manifested, 
and have kindly and voluntarily promised to 
come forwaid to assist ns by their pen and in- 
fluence, to produce a higher standard of lit- 
erature on the Padflc coast. We know our 
old contributors, while they gladly welcome, 
will also thank them for the oflter. Therefore, 
should God spare our united pens, we hope to 
do much more in the future for the strong, 
intellectual, moral, and social progress of our 
inimitable California. 



7» 9mr rtadenj—W^ would address one re- 
quest, — thiit M we wish to increase the num- 
ber of engraTiDgf , and before many months 
dK namber of pag^es, of this magasine, with- 
er mereasimg tke price, we shall thank them to 
speak aa favorable a word for it as possible 
aaon^ their friends, as in proportion as onr 
rircnladon is extended, we are determined to 
improve and enlaige its contents ; that while 
CBdeaToring to make it the visible vibration of 
the great beaxt-polse of onr people, it maj be 
SB nidex of the State's attainment towards a 
high standard of Uteratnre. 

Cauvobhia Lifs. — ^There are those in 
every sphere of society, who are careful ob- 
servers of men, manners, and the more strik- 
ing pecaliarities that abound in animate and 
inanimatr nature everywhere. It is from such 
obscTven, that we expect truthful and inter- 
esting delineations of character, objects, and 
erents; and we invite all cordially to aid us 
by aeading ns their views in well written 
pnwe, of any and every thing of striking in- 
terest that shall tend to illustrate California 
life, alike among her valleys and her moun- 

aaolber class, from their migratory 
habits and equal powen of observation, are 
better aUe to fitvor us with facts and reliable 
ataitstics, touching California. 

PoBTXT. — ^With all proper deference to 
the opinkms of those who are constantly 
flooding oar table with their productions 
srykd p^etrg, in Aeir conceptions; but cer- 
tainly not in ours ; we must again ask the 
iadnlgenee of friends, whilst we candidly tell 
them, they cannot write poetry; or if they 
can, that they have failed to favor us with it. 
We even regret that we have given place to 
some that has appeared in our first volume, 
and shall endeavor to be more circumspect in 
oarfiitnrB selections. 

It w31 be onr pleasure always to receive 
wdl written articles in prose, upon interesting 
fsbyects ; and we know there are many, very 
many, who can thus greatly obligje us ; doing 
honor to themselves as prose writers, which 
they never can do aa poets. 

Pioes. — ^We wish to say a few words to 
evr eoatrflmtofB of prose articles. California 
in her every feature, is strongly marked. 

Geogfaphically and physically, she abounds 
in scenery the most sublime and magnificent. 
In her people, for every species of enterprise, 
she shows an energy and force of character, 
unequalled by the world. Then why may we 
not expect her literature to bear, alike, the 
impress of strength, with a power of concep- 
tion, originality and beauty, in keeping with 
the influences that surround ns ? 

We know there is a kind of inspiration 
imparted to the mind, by the presence of 
external, visible objects; and we see its 
influence even upon the hard-handed, but sus- 
ceptible heart, of the rough-clad miner in his 
mountain home. We have received from such 
socuroes, some of our best prose articles ; and 
sincerely do we desire a continuance of like 
favors, from the same quarter. 

Thb Foukth of July. — To California as 
a State of the Confederacy, this, onr great 
National Anniversary in its seventh annual 
round, is near at hand ; and sgain will her 
mountains and her valleys echo with the 
rejoicings of Freemen, to be borne hence, 
Atlantic-ward and world-wide. 

Yes, ere this our monthly greeting, will 
have reached the home of many a patriot 
heart, that heart as by an inherent impulse, 
will be vibrating with strong emotions, in 
token of a remembmnce of the scenes partici- 
pated in by the founders of our Republic. 

" For Freedom's battle oft be^n. 
Bequeathed from bleeding sire to son, 
Though bafilcd oft, is ever won." 

And it is right, and becoming to every 

American, be he native bom or otherwise, 

thus to give vent to the outgushings of his 

patriotism, on the return of this, our only day 

for a nation's jubilee ; for — 

*' In the long vista of the years to roll. 

Let me not see mv country's honor fade ; 
Oh 1 let me see our land retain its sonl 1 
Her pride in Freedom, and not Freedom's 

Proorbss. — ^In relation to the progress of 
California in everything that constitutes a na- 
tion's greatness, there is no room for the skep- 
tic even, to edge in an opinion to the con- 

Her agriculture, " the soul, the basis of em- 
pire," is progressing with rapid strides, her 
valleys and hillsides, are eveiywhere teeming 



?nth happy and increasing population'; and 

this is progress. 

New lands are sought and improved ; orch- 
ards are being planted everywhere ; and this 
is progress. Manufactories are ciiing up on 
every hand ; our mines are being more rapidly 
developed and extensively worked, than ever 
before ; and this is progress. 

Churches and school houses are fast dotting 
every city and village of the State, whilst 
wives are rapidly making glad the homes of 
Doi people, and cherub children are making 
musical every hill and valley ; and this too, is 
progress. And though there may be two dis- 
tinctive features or phases of progression, as 
affecting the condition of a country, tending 
to its rise and downfall, it is clear to every un- 

prejudiced, honest mind, that California's pro- 
gress is towards improvement. 

It is true, we have many here, too many, 
of a class of idlers, unprincipled men, who 
are but poor representatives of progress; 
but they would be the same anywhere. Thcv 
came to California purposely and avowedly, 
to rob her of her golden treasures, and then 
go hence, leaving her shorn of her wealth. In 
this perhaps they have been in a measure dis- 
appointed ; and becanse they have not been 
able to become rich as suddenly as they desii^ 
ed, by depleting the fairest land with the 
%nest clime under heaven, they must now 
needs hurl their anathemas, loud and deep, 
against the fair fame, the progress and true 
condition of California. 


Wo have read so much poetry ? of late, that 
our very wits are at last frozen into rhyme, and 
in this strain we cannot help addressing our 

Welcome, friends! come sit ye round our 
table altogether, 

We'll talk about the price of things, the 
fashion, and the weather. 

But ere we plunge in politics, or earp at con- 

Our absent friends must first be thank'd for 
their kind contributions. 

gripes we regret too long is, for this our 
present page, 

And Bertha too ding dong is, for past or 
present age. 

fMd Ynma Boy shall appear, he merits our 
best thanks, 

Such articles as his are, desarve the foremost 

One Tear is much too wat'ry, weVo been cry- 
ing I all the day ; 

Come give us something jollier, cheer up old 
friend we say — 

In these dull times a cheery friend, his bare 
hand, or in leather. 

We shake, and greet just as we would, the sun 
in foggy weather. 

• •••«*«* *^ we thank with all our 

Such kind, good friends as they have been, are 
mnch too dear to part. 

Tevgh Yam is like tough steak, too tough to 
« be digested ; 

And Timothy we now request no more to be 
" requested." 

To other friends, who know, their muse we do 
not wish to throttle. 

Our ink is out, so mnsi defer till open we 
next bottle ! 

If the above jingle does not disgnat those 
who send us " machine poetry 1" their case 
is hopeless. 

A Dialogue, — ^Received, and will bo examined 
soon ; if it contains interest and pointy will 
receive further attention. 

The Actreee, — With many other articles, 
necessarily deferred for the present. 

Pliny. — ^Tho ancient " Almanack " came i 
right, and in our social chair next monti 
wo shall note its quaint contents. 

C. — Has not yet been received. 

Jessica t Sonera — We suppose you sing " Wait 
for the Wagon V* to yon then, coniidenlial- 
ly, we would suggest that you " Wait well 
with patience, and don't shut your eyes.'' 
Do you not think that such would be the bet- 
ter courA for yon, in the end ? Aye, be- 
lieve us. 

Smudges. — Yours on table-turning, after hav- 
ing made the engraving therefor, is nnaroid- 
ably deferred till next month. 

D. — Tours is received, and — as always — is 
very good. 



TOi-n. AUGUST, 1857. »o. n. 


HUTcnmos' califobnia magazine. 

of the City fire bell ; or the load olies of the 
populace, proclaim the locality of the 
fire ; and either blesses Qcd that he has 
once more escaped the ravages of the re- 
lentless enemy, as he offers up a silent hope 
or prayer that it may not be a particular 
friend who resides in the locality of the fire, 
and of whom he immediately thinks ; or, ho 
hurries on to the scene of action to remove 
the more valuable of his treasures, or those 
of his friend, and render aid at such a time, 
even to an enemy. 

Now all is excitement — ^the red glare 
around and upon the sky, and the black 
volumes of curling smoke rolling past, in- 
vite all haste; streams of men, engines, 
hose-carriages, hooks and ladders, are hur- 
rying on, on, alike heedless ot consequences 
to those who thoughtlessly impede their 
progress. The loud orders of the foreman 
through his trumpet ; the solemn and alarm- 
ing tolling of the bells ; the impatience of 
the living tide of men eagerly pressing foi^ 
ward to the conflict, unite to give a fearful 
impetus to almost superhuman eflfort. Soon 
— ^aye, how very soon 1 — but a few moments 
apparently, and the gallant firemen — ^the 
guardians of the public property^ — ^with 
their means of salvation, and without a self- 
ish thought, are at hand to compel submis- 
sion to the common enemy. 

Bee them in their Roman-like helmets, 
and with their Boman — ^no, American — 
courage, hurrying up ladders ; leaping on 
roots; rushing through doorways; climb- 
ing through windows ; creeping on fioors 
to prevent suffocation ; crawling on the 
very top of the trembling and coDsuming 
building ; that, in the front of the battle, 
they may successfully combat and annihilate 
the fell destroyer. What though be may 
fid! over into immediate death ; or drop 
through into the fiery abyss which is raging 
below, to immediate destmction ; nothing 
daunted, on, on he presses ; nor will he quit 
his post antil the victory is won I 

Should a cry for help, firom some almost 
inaooessible height be heard^ — from firaotic 
iBOther or helplflss duldrwr— how qaiokl j 

a ladder is ascended, and through the fiery 
element, deliverance carried to the perish- 
ing. How well does he deserve the wel- 
coming plaudits of his anxious brethren, 
and the cheering acclamations of the eager 
crowd ; who, as witnesses, stand to see and 
admire the cool and intrepid daring of the 
delivering hero ? No wonder that in grate- 
ful heart throbbings of the rescued ones, a 
prayer for blessings is offered up on the 
generous head, and for the self-sacrificing 
baud of the deliverer ; while all say "God 
bless you," — and they mean it too. 

The fire is subdued. Now comes the 
stem realities of the loss. A life saved from 
destruction, lives to be grateful, — ^that is 
much, very much ; but, alas ! from compar- 
ative opulence, the sufferers are reduced to 
actual destitution. All the luxuries of life 
which they were just beginning to enjoy as 
the reward of unremitting toil, are now ly- 
ing in the dust, like the frail card-palace — 
the toys of our childhood. 

Oh, what news to send to the fond, and 
perhaps absent partner of his life, to the 
little and loving ones at home 1 Of what 
comforts has it not robbed them T of what 
innocent pleasures has it not bereft them ? 

Bncouraged by friends he has to begin 
life anew; though perhaps now an old 
man, he has to put on the vigor of a young 
one, to supply even an ordinary subsistence 
to the cherished ones of his once hap;>y 
household. This is not a picture merely, 
but the recital of a reality — aye, many a 
heart-touching story of California experi- 
ence could be written of fire in the c«*in- 
mercial cities of our State, and in nearly all 
of the largo mining towns ; of men, who 
are rich to-day and helplessly poor to> 

A PaAiRne ox Fibb. — Amidst the roar 
of the contending elements, is heard, at a 
distance, the screams of fugitive animals ; 
now a faint trampling, th^n in the far- 
stretched out horison an incongruous herd 
of the hairy denisens of the wild forest and 
plain. Nearer and nearer they approach ; 
plaiMr and plainer are beard their mad- 


4n>ed trMnpUogs ; oDir&rd the; rnah, hel- 
tcr-tkelter ; terror in «ach e;e, Turf !□ each 
trod. Behind and aroand them, full owing 
them op, •ppews t, waJI of fire, crackling, 
( (he blast or a heated 
(omaoe I Onwurd, still onward, they nish, 
tiaiopliiig maoj a young fli;et one beneath 
liaar feet, to feed the flame aa pre; to the 
ipoikr- Side hj iide, the tiger races with 
tbe deer, Ibe Hod with the bnfliilo. the jackal 
*itb tbe hare, l(e panther with the roebnck. 
iloodaof bealed dost and blacken^ Emuke, 
wli tbe pn^TCM of their race, aoil the 
ndltM tyrant behind them. Uaddenly 
they ate brought ep to a halt by the artof 
the old, experienced and intrepid traveler. 
>Ie, IbnaeeiDg tbe angry arpect of the 
boniiDg hearms, with cool, calculating 
ji»% n>eat. marks (he path of the destroyer. 
SoatcfaiDga light from his wallet, be watches 
the direction of Ibe blint, ignitei a ridge of 
■ uh before him, and clears iinSIcieDt space 
facilore it to itay it« progress. With marked 
tatcMlahiBnit, be Tiews the wood<rrnii eDecte 
U fright spodlbe fngitivea artniDd bim. 
TW lion has kM hii eonrage, yet terror- 
Mndca rovt ; tbe tiger do longer tbints 
far Wood, bat ncaka witb tail behind him, 
a mj caaTCiL Tbe Wild deer twM 

aside from the traveler, hnt almost ofiers 
his throat to the knife; some remain sta- 
tionary, lashiag their tails, as if undL-cided 
what to do ; others tarn and riiBh madly on 
the be&t«d embers and perish in their patb. 

A Ship on Fiu.— One of the most 
heart-rending soeoes we ever witnessed, 
was that of a ship on Qre st sea. Having 
just taken oor nsnal position on the quar- 
ter deck, looking at the Fhoals of porpoises 
which were at play about our vessel, we 
heard the aoul-thrillii>g cry uf fire — liru I 
shoated in wild affright from all parts of 
tbe ship. Where ? where T was eagerly eo- 
qnired. The s'eerage I the steerage ! 

Without scarcely wailing f>jr the answer, 
we sprung forward and cnt down the buck- 
ets from beneath the boats, when a voice 

«ll(d, M. , M. . We haft- 

tened to tbe spot from whence the voice 
proceeded, and there we found the c^tain 
looking pale, ibongh collected, and firm its 
thoDgh nothing were happening. giving hit 
orders to every man nhal to do. 

" M. - — ■ — ; please bring every womaa 
and child on board, to the quarter dei'k 

Immediately we proceeded to execnie 
hit orders, but tbe scene iircMnltd made 



one almost powerless, either to rnn or 
speak. Children dumb with fright were, 
clasping their mother's knees, as the 
most certain place of refage. Some moth- 
ers frantic with fear, were crying and 
wringing their hands; others holding up 
their little ones, pressed them to their 
bosoms, exclaiming " what shall we do?" 
Agonizing despair seemed writtten upon 
almost every countenance. Many of the 
men ran about, like children, now this way, 
now that, crying, '' we shall all be burnt I 
we shall all be burnt." Others suggested 
that they jump overboard to sare them- 
selves. "Where is your Manhood?" ex- 
claimed a sailor, with a loud voice ; and it 
was astonishing the eilfect this candid ques- 
tion produced. Men rose from their knees, 
(for some of the worst men on board had 
actually been the first to pray) ; women 
wiped their eyes ; as through their tears 
they looked and asked if there were 
any danger ; but now some of the men 
returning from below, cried i "it is out," 
•« it is out." 

Now if the reader ever noticed the first 
bright gleam of sunshine falling upon a 
tree or fiower, after a storm, when the dia- 
mond rain lay nestling in the hollow of a 
leaf, and the sparkling change then pro- 
duced ; he may in a measure, realize the 
eflfectthis glad inteUigence made upon all 
on board, as they cried, laughed and 
looked joyfully through their tears at 
the messenger. Eager joy lighted afresh 
the eyes still wet with tears. Despair's 
deep wrinkles gave place to Hope's round 

One fact we noticed too ; — ^now, that those 
whose manly hearts knew no fear in the 
hour of danger, but who unmoved, rushed 
fearlessly below to combat the destroying 
element, when the danger was over, and 
the foe was conquered, had a tear standing 
in the eye, as with their voice almost 
choked with feeling they remarked : 
« Thank God we're safe." 

The danger over, we had time to inquire 
the cause and extent of the fire. It ap- 

peared that in obedience of orders, a backet 
of tar and a red hot iron had been taken 
below by the sailors to fumigate the steer- 
age, and purify the unwholesome air ; be- 
sides compelling those to go on deck who 
had not been up ^re since leaving port, 
at the ri^ of severe sickness. By some 
mishap the tar bucket when on fire, had 
been tipped ovei', and the fiery ; resinous 
substance had run ambog the trunks and 
berths, and set them on fire. 

How truly fearful must be a fire at sea, 
when all hopes of safety or flight are cut 
off, and death from fire or drowning is 
inevitable. How beautifully expressive 
are the graphic lines of Charles Mackay, 
the present able editor of the Ilkutrated 
London NeufSj entitled : 


The Btonn o'er the ocean flew ftirioiu and flwt, 
And the waves rose in foam at the voice of the blast. 
And heavily labored the gale-beaten ship, 
like a stout hearted swimmer, the spray at his lip; 
And dark was the skv o*er the mariner's path. 
Except when the lightning illamin'd it in wrath. 

A young mother knelt in the cabin below. 
And pressing her babe to her bosom of snow. 
She prayed to her God 'mid the hurricane wild : 
Oh 1 Father have mercy, look down on my chUd. 
It passed.— 1 he fierce whirlwind careered on its w«y. 
And the ship, like an arrow, divided the spray ; 
Her sails glimmered white in the beams of the moon. 
And the wind up aloft seemed to whistle a tone. 

There was Joy In the ship as she fhrrowed the fbam. 
For fond hearts within her were dreaming of home; 
The young mothei|press'd her Ibnd babe to her breast. 
And sang a sweet song as she rocked it to real. 
And the nusband sat cheerily down by her side. 
And look'd with deUght on the £sce of his bride. 

Oh h^py, said he, when oar roamfaw Is o'er. 
We'll dwell in our cottage that stands by the Acre; 
Already in fancy Its roof I descry. 
And the smoke of its hearth curUng np to the aky. 
Its garden so green and its vlne-coverd wall, 
The kind friends awaiting to welcome us all. 
And the children that sport by the old oaken tree ; 
Ah gently the ship glided over the sea. 

Haik I what was thafr—Hait I hark to the shoat I 

Fire?— then a tramp— and a rout,— 

And an uproar of voices arose tas the air, 

And the mother knelt down— and the half tpokea 

That she offered to Ood in her agony wild. 
Was Father have mercy, look down on my child : 
She flew to her husband, she clung to his side, 
Oh there was her refuge, whate'er might betlcte. 

Fire 1 Fire 1 it was was raging above and below, 
Their eyes filled with tears and their hearts filled with 

And the cheeks of the sailors grew pale at the sight; 
And their eyes glistened wild In the glare of the light; 
*Twas vabi o'er the ravage the waters to dilp. 
The pitiless flame was the lord of the ship. 
And the smoke in thick wreaths, mounted U^ier, and 

Oh Godlt is fearfU to perish by flT« ; 
Alone with destmction, alone on the sea. 
Great Father of mercy, oar hope is m That. 

Sad at heart and rsslgn'd, yet andannted and tmve. 
They lowered out the boat, a mere speck on the wave 
First entered the mother enlblding her child. 
It knew she caressed It, looked upward and mUad: 


•BIT ox nSB AT BEX. 

To CUaiboB, the reDowned, a,n we Id- 
deblfd for the iofurmatioa of the fint Ore 
tKgiae thftt erer made its appearance. 
TVia eelebra,t«d mechanic flourished [q the 
reigM ofPtokmjPhiladelphDs, ud Ptole- 
mj Eoergetes, B. c. 250. He was the first 
■aa who diicorered the elastic force of 
air ; and tlie Grat «bo adapted thia knowl- 
edge to aaj practical purpoae. He ib 
to iMve invented a h^dnuilic organ water 
dodt, Mid eondenaed air foantain; 
ktts. BO doabt, saggeeted the ioTeoUon 
tf a ire eogine. The Ptolemiea, who 
woe the fimnden «f tbe Greek Kings in 
Egypt, were derived tnn Boter, (be abkat 
of aO tbe geoerab of Alexander the Great ; 
aod were all, more or leaa, great palroaa of 
tbe DMbanlcal arta. Tbe Chineae later 
than thiB, among their mostj records, d 
tit iadicntiona of a similar inveotion ; bat 
it i^j be adiod, what modem invention is 
tboc which thej do not claim, according 
tone tiavellenT The Greeks tbcmselves it 

would seem had not mnch demand for the 
diBpla; of this manl; inatitatioD ; their 
magaificcDt stone edifices ataoding in no 
danger of the Pire-King; but it wag other- 
in Boiiie, for all the EmperorB had 
their fire brigades; and Nero raust hsva 
begna his tyranny by nnllifying their 
power, or otherwise they would have dia* 
appointed him in bis demoniac enjoynMot 
of the cooflagration of Rome. The pnpil 
of Ct«3ibDS, before mentioned, was one 
Heron. The common pneumatic experi- 
ment called Hero's foantuD, throwing a 
continued jet of water, by means of con- 
ed air, ie attribated to him. He has 
left many works on malhematical science! 
mechaoical arts; among which, may 
easily be traced the Br«t principles of the 
steam engine ; aa well as the doable forcing 
pomp in fire engines. 

Saetonius, who Qouriahed in the reign (tf 
the emperor Trajan, baa left on record a 
good account of the Bomaa trained firo- 
men; but their evmbersome machines 
would excite now the ridicule of the merest 
tyro in hydraulic art, not to mention soy 
matter involving mechanical coDslruction. 

The first fire engine which haa been 
thorooghly described, was made by one 
Theodore Haatsch, of Xorenberg, b I6ST. 
It was worked by four or six men, and was 
applied more to irrigationa thali to cott- 
flagrations. In 1699, a Uodb. Daperrier 
brought out hia invention, and received hia 
patent, expressly for tbe pnrpoae of extln- 
guiahing fires :n the boildingB of Paria ; 
but none of these inventions had an ur 
chamber, nor bad tbey tbe flexible hoae of 
the modem inventlonB, bat a aeries of cop- 
per tabes of different cnrvee, and lengths, 
to adapt themselves to tbe location. It is 
easy to conceive how mnch time was lost, 
aod how much labor waa ipeot, berore they 
could be put in order to become at all efleo- 
tive. In 1672 Jao Yanderbeide produced 
hia flexible pipes, as we now hare them 
in action ; and to complete the preaent 
machine, forty-eight years after, one Leo- 
pold, introdaoed the air chamber with 



many other important mechanical im- 
provements and eolargemeots. From this 
period they became universal all over Eng- 
land and France, and in most other Eu- 
ropean capitals. In 1830 Mr. Braithwaite 
brought out his celebrated steam fire. en- 
gine, and afterwards his floating fire engine 
which can be adapted to propelling vessels 
or working ship's pumps. Before the year 
1825 each Fire Insurance Company in 
London had its separate establishment ; but 
from this period they began to associate 
for the advantage of public property, under 
one sole saperintendence. The whole of 
the city of London was then divided into 
districts, in each of which was established 
one, two, or three engines, according to its 
size. The firemen are formed into one 
body, called The Fire Brigade ; over which 
Mr. Braidwood presides. The men have 
an uniform, select from any other company ; 
and are drafted off every night into watches, 
to be ready upon the instant they are re- 
quired. So expert are the men forming 
tiiis brigade, in harnessing, and equipping 
their horses, that only one minute is allowed 
for this purpose, and this is often accom- 
plished, incredible as it may appear, even 
in less than this time. Ihis splendid estab- 
lishment is paid by the various Fire Insur- 
ance Companies; each contributing its 
quota towutis the general expences. 

These engines are by no means so im- 
posing in appearance as those of the 
United States. They are usually painted 
red, and have the appearance of our more 
ordinary Furniture Vans. A fire rarely, 
if ever, extends to two houses, there ; this is 
owing to the provision that the legislature 
has made of requiring party or perfect side 
walls to every individual house. These 
walls are always of incombustible materials, 
such as stone, brick, or iron. The use of 
cast iron in buildings has iucreaaed so 
much of late, that many engineers and 
builders have projected plans of buildings 
to be oomposed entirely of that material. 
Cast iron pillars, supports, and breast- 
Bommers are so frequent now, that there 

is scarcely a modern building to be fonnd 
in London without them. Besides these, 
fire proof floors are often adopted, both in 
public and large private edifices. A Mr. 
Farrow has lately patented an invention 
consisting of joists of wrought iron, with 
a flange on each side stretching from joist 
to joist inserting a series of flat stones, 
whose upper surfSeices lie flush with the 
upper edges of the joists. These may be 
covered with plank or painted so as to 
imitate it. A Mr. Frost has also invented 
a method of constructing roofs and floors 
of hollow square earthenware tubes, cement- 
ed together, so as to form one solid flat 
indestructible surface. The gpreat use of 
timber in building, has given rise to many 
suggestions of rendering it indestructible by 
fire. Payne adopts a method by placing 
timber in a solution of muriate of ammonia, 
or muriate of soda with borax or alum, and 
has partly succeeded. Besides these there 
are many other solutions, which are well 
known to chemists, and which are only 
rendered impracticable by the great ex- 
pense attending them. Owing to these 
and other methods of prevention, fires are 
of much less frequency in London or Paris 
than in any other cities : another cause and 
a no less important one of their infrequency, 
is the extraordinary vigilance of the police ; 
who in both metropolises are permitted to 
enter any house whatever, which they may 
find open at night ; or to break open any 
door of any private dwelling, when they 
may suspect fire. In France the Fire En- 
gine Pompe a Incendie is no object of pride 
or exultation, but one of severe utility and 
practical form, like those of London ; there is 
an utter absence of all fancy paintings, silver 
appointments, multi-colored ribbons, kc. 
They are less attractive even than those of 
London, and exhibit when called out not 
the least excitement ; even ihepdits gamins 
(street boys) find no fun in the largest house 
bonfire. Their engines are under the con- 
trol of especial and responsible police of- 
ficers. There is one in every arrondissemoit 
usually kept in some part of the JUoirie 


» City Hotel. The Corp$ dts Pompien 
(Body ot Pompera] is orgaoiEed, first, by 
order of the City Couocil, tni every fire- 
■u reedTM bii regnlv pay from the city 
(utk. The Fire Engine officers of each 
eompuiy, ire elected by the corporatioo, 
ud bold their offic« Ibr a term of years. 
The Ben sre ehoaen froo mechuiicg, ac- 
CMtonKd to Hcead boildings, ftod are ever 
^rinf, intrepid, noble fellows, «Dd the 
vonb sdr-dMger or fev, are not to l>e 
bud in their vocabalary. The saiiia may 
be Mid with ai mad) emphuia of those of 

They more with nilitary discipline, and 
fimo- paina it taken with their traiQiag 
thsB with otfaera ; they liave to acquire several 
(i'laartad* la gymtuutique" mimitahlj 
adapted to holding on expertly io critical 
tad daageroos sitoationg. The advantage 
of the indispensable condition of strict di- 
•dplioe, apoa any important poblic occa- 
■CB, is Dowbera seen to better eOect than 
ii France. The oten themselves appreciate 
it. and wonld be nseleas without it Id 
I^ndoo the soond tif alum is the boman 
nace,— Fire ! Fire 1 1 Fire I ! ! echoed by all 
ki Bogbbor* ; and the rattling in fnrions 

speed of the heavy eogiiies to the place of 
actioD. Od such occasioDS, for any hdrt or 
damage they may do to any passenger or 
conveyance, they are not amenable ; all 
giv« way for them, and atop, or draw aside 
to let them whirl themselves by. In 
France, the tocsin is sonnded from the 
nearcfit chorch steeple, at the expense of 
the party Buffering by the fire. This is 
followed by the tolling of all the betis &om 
other steeples within hearing of the latter. 
Then the drnmmers go Ibroagh the streets 
forioQsly beating la generdU and in less 
time than can be mentioasd, the respective 
fire companies are ejecting streams as from 
a delnge npon the theatre of the conflagra; 
tion. Soon after this, rash the soldiers of 
the nearest garrison, filled with the aame 
ardor, entbasiasm, and devonemait as at the 
assanlt of a Malakoff or a Bedan. Then 
close at iheir beeb come the teminaTitlu — 
students in thpology — with their long black 
ttnitmu or guwna ; bnming with zeal to take 
their part in the enviable strife. la Lon- 
don, the enthnsiann is confined to those 
pressed volantarily into the service at the 
moment, and who receive adequate pay for 
their services if needy, or honorable men 



tion if otherwise. Those of other Earopeao 
cities are formed upon the flame plan as 
that of Paris or Loodon, and ejihibit the 
same amount of promptitude and excite- 
ment. But it is reserved for the United 
States and the Caoadas to exhibit to the 
world a system unrivalled in every respect ; 
whether as relates to the splendor and 
magnificence of its machinery, or the 
efficiency of its appointmeota ^md orgazt- 

There are few objects that more excite 
the admiration of a foreigner than the first 
appearance of our establishment in action. 
The energy and promptitude of the men 
and the beautiful order of the engines are 
beyond all adequate praise. No sooner is 
the alarm sounded, than the solemn tones of 
The Oity Hall Bell are " botne forth on the 
dull cold air of night " and the clappers of 
every engine house take up the " wondrous 
frightful tale." Tl^en out pour the noble 
band in neat costume of red shirt or white 
shirt, coat or no coat, from church, hall, 
concert, theatre, or bed room, to their 
respective Engine Palaces. The ''Open 
Sesame " proclaimed, the ponderous gates 
fly open, the elegant creation moves, ap- 
parently with unseen hands, and flies down 
the street with the impetus of an arrow 
shot f^om the bow ; is on the scene of ac- 
tion in a few moments, and pouring forth 
the counteracting element, in incessant 
contest. Now the flames rage higher and 
higher, lighting up the universal heaven 
with demoniacal lure. Now the antag- 
onistic element, heavier and heavier, pours 
upon them its aqueous wrath, as from a 
mighty conqueror, bent upon a conquest 
Column after column of fire, meet column 
after column of water, until the flaming 
forks hide their humbled heads in the dust, 
and vanish altogether in burning, blacken- 
ing smoke. Meanwhile sleeping babies are 
snatched from a horrible death, or maniac 
mothers clutched from self destruction, by 
the cool but nicely calculating daring of 
the noble and intrepid fireman. With one 
foot planted upon — he hardly knows what, 

and the o^mp— ^b^hwll^ etmm bew, — ^he 
8ee» before lilor tte liffiww^nhiiMut: of a 
paranov^ d^, a ttilr to^ b^ sa wA a nd 
shoidd his own rAMf}^ be tiifrtofeit, 
he knows that he tnbve» behind ^him a fame 
which is engraven on tibue^aflectionate hearts 
of hli brethrea^ 

In the last lizhibition Univeraette of 
Paris IB 1856 there ytm an ofjpertmty 
given to test Hbs vailoas. ezo^enciea o€ fire 
engines froB ever; pafft of the ci^illaed 
world. Amon^ the foremost that e^MciaUy 
demanded attention was ofm ft«m a manu- 
fhctuter in Canada, lis sbe was Jam tikan 
ha^ of thasmaUesi of I^. S. or Kimpcan 
make. This Sttle naiiriiwnding aadine 
threw up a edkum of m o^aeiaa» a Bulk 
as the largest, and much higher than any 
others, and maintained its power until the 
last drop was exhausted from its reservoir. 
Upon what principle this desideratum was 
achieved, we are yet to learn ; but it ia to 
be feared that its machinery is too delicate 
to bear the wear and tear of the constant 
demand of whole years. 

That in use amongst us is too well known 
to need description, but in case any of our 
readers may not be well posted in the mat- 
ter we subjoin a description of the common 

This connsts of an oblong cistern, in 
the lower part of this cistern is a metallic 
pipe into which the water fiows firom a feed 
pipe connected with the other end and with 
the cistern. When the water gains access 
to the interior pipe it is elevated and forced 
into an upright air vessel by two pumps, 
worked by manual power, at connecting 
handles or levers out-side. From this air 
vessel the water is forced into a pipe con- 
nected with the leather hose, and from this 
on to the burning building. The use of 
this air vessel is obvious ; for without it 
the jet would gush forth at intervals like 
that of the common syringe, but by the 
help of this air vessel the stream is made a 
continuous one by the elastic pressure of 
the air. 

The application of steam power to ab- 


* MHtmra axd coxfutt. 
brerwte the kbor of working fire eogiQes 
is one of the most ncceeaftil utd happiest 
efreNha. Wbararcrexpeditioa utd power 
ue nqntred, there rteftm is most edabtable- 
The celebraied trial of the stum fire ea- 
gioei of CincioDati on the occaMon at the 
openng at the Ohio anil Mumuppi Bail- 
nmd itaenbtd U Leatie'B Uhntratad NewB- 
fmpet will be read with interest by onr 

Wb were SjrfaiBate while In ClDdnDati 
ia witn — i f the " tuoiiig oat " of one df 
th*« "eteuien," u th^ an luniJiar^ 
aUed by the ciluKDi. We fc»pjim>j^ 40 be 
M the Mme block on which an engine waa 
■taatod ; the Moneat we heard the Up of 
te alHB bell, BDd bcAire we conld no the 
irtence of half a Kjoare, the enffine 00m- 
fletdj in trim wee w the itieet aad on iu 
*aj to liM eooflagratioD. Deteniiined to 
witocM the woridflg of theae to ai no?el 
BMtrinnces, we contianed on, and di»- 
mmcd that the baildiog, the Waverley 
Hooae, on Sre, was of wood, very kig«. 

Ltaioiiig ei^tT roooa, bebg for the mo- 

■eM naocmpied, vet hil of feraitare; it , 

*M aat oo Ik ia ejsht diSwenl placM, bj \ At a given aij^, tfae water soddeoly 

to qoiclclf walk the Sve or six blocks ne- 
cessary to reach the scene, berore we di»- 
covered the ateamert "sbuliing off," the 
bnildinff, in spite of its light materials, so 
&r as Ore was concerned, being but little 
iojared, for a atream of water was almost 
instaotiy ponring over each Boor, even be- 
fore the beds under which the fires had 
been made were coosamed. 

The most marked feature in this Impoo- 
iog procession was the Inm ont of the 
Bre oepartment, which consisted of seTen 
''steamers," foarteen hose carts and one 
hook and ladder compeey, the while escort- 
ed by a flee body of military. After par«d- 
ing the streets np to an appointed hoar, at 
the tap of a bell the " steftmers " started off 
at fall speed, gettiog ap steam at the ume 
instant precisely as if going to a fire. 

Proceeding at a rapid pace to the large 
open square a front of the market on Siith 
street, three of the " steamers " took their 
places at the diSerent cisterns aronad the 
square, while the other fonr took their poei- 
UoDs oear the cisterns in the adjoming 
Is. The hose hota the diSerent eo- 
gines was then brought ioto the middle of 
the square where the trial took plac' 


.. the beds in diSerent started into the air tnm seveD different 
We bod hardly time I P>I>^i ""^ tnmed npword, the united glory 




proving one of the most beantifal siffhts 
that could possibly be imagined. The 
glistening drops sparkled like so many 
diamonds flang into the air, and the vast 
crowd assembled gave ej(i)ression to their 
admiration by stentorian vivas. The amus- 
ing admiration expressed by many country 
people at the spectacle was quite refresh- 
ing; and their remarks upon the beantv 
and utility of the fire department, though 
uttered in homely language, was expresave 
and complimentary. 

These seven fire engines houses of Cin- 
cinnati are not little " cubbys," such as we 
have in New York, but substantial edifices, 
occupying two lots, and fifty feet wide. 
They are built so that throughout the day 
they are literally open te the passers-by 
thronging the streets, and any one who 
chooses can walk in and inspect the difier- 
ent things connected with these useful 
buildings. The large "steamer*' stands 
on one side with its pipe directly under a 
funnel, so that the smoke from the slumber- 
ing fires of the furnace escape out of the 
roof; beneath the engine is a brick well 
to catch any cinders which might fall and 
litter the fioor, or endanger the safety of the 
building. Alongside stand two carts, each 
carrying two thousand feet of hose ; they 
are so large that our New York hose carts 
look like toys by the contrast, and instead 
of being dragged by fifty men and boys one 
horse ^clently does the labor. There is 
also to be seen what appears to be a small 
hand-cart, which contains the fuel taken to 
the fii^e to supply steam. This cart is at- 
tached to the nose when it goes to the fire. 
In the fourth district house is to be seen 
the onlv hook and ladder carriage in Cin- 
cinnati I It is drawn by two horses, and 
accompanied by the captain and a small 
number of men. 

At the back of the house, and of the 
same fioor, is a large stable, running the 
entire width of the building, containing six 
of the finest draught horses in the country. 
Attached to the fourth district " steamer," 
are four grays, perfect matches ; the largest 
weighs one thousand five hundred pounds, 
the smallest one thirteen hundred and fifty. 
Each horse has its name, and answers to it 
with great intelli^nce. These horses stand 
all day with their trappings on, ready to 
work at a moment's notice. At night the 
harness, which, by the way, is in one piece, 
is taken off. As the men attached to the 
engine all sleep in the house, each horse has 
a person especially appointed to bring him 
out ; consequently, at night, the instant the 

alarm is g^ven, each ho^se is in an incredi- 
bly short space of time harnessed and in his 
place. In many instances the men have 
been in bed asleep, the horses laying in 
their stalls, and in two minutes from the 
time the alarm was g^ven, men, horses, and 
engine and hose were on their way to the 

The officers of a steamer consist of a 
foreman, assistant-foreman, pipeman, fire- 
man and driver. On the alarm being 
given, the fireman rushes to the. furnace 
and with a torch lights the fire under all 
the surface of the grate ; the engineer takes 
his place in front of the engine, his duty 
being to turn on and off the steam, as the 
foreman may direct; the driver springs 
into the saddle on the near horse and guides 
the near leader with a rein ; the off horses 
he controls by voice and whip. In pro- 
ceediDg to a fire, the two hose carts lead 
and clear the way, and the steamer follows 
at a short distance, so that in case of an- 
other coming through a cross street the 
driver can signal the steamer to pull up, if 
nothing is in the way the steamer rattles 
over Uie pavements like flying artillery. 

On arriving at a fire the driver takes his 
horses into a neighboring street, or any 
convenient place, and never leaves his 
charge^ The two suction pipes are in- 
stantly lifted from their hooks, and placed in 
*a cisterii, (the streets bdng amply provided 
with them) and then all that is neces- 
sary to* do 18 to attach the hose, and evei^- 
thing is ready. All this is done with precis- 
sion and quietness ; and instead of seeing a 
crowd of men and boys, in each others' way, 
as in New York and other Atlantic cities, 
you see an engine of a dozen times the power 
of our best hand engine controlled by a few 
persons, not a word being spoken, the re- 
mainder of the company meantime being 
engaged in ordinal^ auttes about the barn- 

The contrivances to raise steam almost 
on the instant are very happy. The boiler 
is flat, rendering a lai^ surfkce of grate 
necessary. The wood is distributed thinly 
over the grate, and, as we have already 
stated, is fired in every part by a torch. 
In the boiler there is no more water than 
can with great promptness be converted 
into vapor ; this done, a little engine, de- 
signated ** the doctor," supplies fresh water 
enough to make another respiration of 
steam, and then another, and so on as long 
as the motive power is needed. Two safety 
valves are attached to each boiler, one only 
of whjch is under the control of the engin- 


mvr HiK soil 1 JUMP a 


(BT, »> thftt if be gets enthmiMtic and ahatt 
dova tke nlTe, be cuDot l^ his ill-timed 
val. M WM the cue on a brmer meUD- 
<ko)r ooeuioa, eaon m explosion. 

The fixee of tbe water is lo great that it 
raqnirei two neo to hold the uid (^ the 
hoee aod mOTe with it, while tbe third with 
the DM^ dinete the itream. The nozxiea 
an fijr atibtj aod not for beauty, being 
eol^ eighteen inchei long, and therefore 
caeilj inaerted into an; openlDg that t^em, 
that leadt to the heart of the deToaring 

After a ire, the eoginei tetnrD at wa 

JM pace to tbeir diflereot etatio.. . . 
We wera mneh amoaed at the waj tbe 
drira' backed tbe combrons machJoe into 
the hooee with the Ibnr honea, iriiich waa 
ioat bj whip and command aJooe. Innde 
the bo«ne i* a tabe or foonel fixed to the 
roof; tbe eogioe moat be backed eo that 
(he fiunel cornea nnder thia tube to allow 
tie imohe to eecapc. Thia wm done while 
the bonee were atuehed. Tbe driver then 
UMk U( bonee fron the traoee— tbe Ore- 
WM eleaoed oat the furnace and relaid tbe 
lael few the next oceatioo it woald be need- 
ed. TUe b dooe bj Snt pettii^ a tier of 
Aa*iagi on the grate which coren the 
wkiie nrface of tlw boiler ; then a tier of 
■pliataa or latha en tt^ ij the aha^iogs 

then the ordinary blocke (^ wood io geoeral 
QM. Am Boon aa the Are is lighted and tbe 
Bteam well np, tbe fire ie coatinoed with 
coal. Tbe engineer and the rest of tbe fire- 
men then polish tbe engine, and in a short 
time it 'a id tbe ume state as when it went 
from the house. The average of the firea 
which take place, according to the Chief '■ 
■talemeot, is not more than one per week, 
and aoDietimet ae long as three weeka 
elapsed without baTing to tnni out. Saeh 
is uie Beoae of eecnritj which citizens feel 
in Ciocinnati, that we were infarmed bj 
several persona that if a Ore shoald happeo 
in the boose next their own they woold 
not tliink of moving a single article of 

Tbe force of water thrown bj tliese tna- 
chiiMe is BO powwrnl, that if people inters 
fere with tbe flremea by crowding too near, 
the^ tnm the hose on them, Um water of 
which poshes ihem down, and they scamper 
off as best ther can, taking the uiir^ aa a 
good joke, and aJRerwards keeps as Gtf aa ii 
neceesary away. Instead of a great num- 
ber (rf men, DOfs. and loafers, beiar con- 
gr^ated abort a flre, as is tbe case in our . 
Bastem cities, all that one can tee are the 
Urge engines takioff np their slations — 
sometimes four or five hundred bet from 
the fln— only two persons sear tbun, via., 



the engineer and fireman. These powerful 
machinefl then commei^ce doing their work 
qaietly and more efficiently tmm hondredB 
of men could do it 

This steam fire department was orffaniaed 
b^ Miles Greenwood, and it was Uirongh 
his inflaence that the old department was 

When going to a fire, the horses seemed 
as anxious and as excited as the men, uid 
the instant the bell was sounded they knew 
the moment for going on duty had arrived. 

The steam is generally got «p in seven 
minntes from the time the fornaoes ai^ 
fired, and we believe that it he& never hapr 
pened that it was not ready whea the en- 
gine arrived at the scene of action. 

The inventor of the fire enginee SQggeste 
that the iosorance Qompanies should make 
it a part of the agrement with insurers, 
more especially in regard to warehouses, to 
have a large iron pipe, six inches in diem- 
eter, fixed perpeodicularly in the side of the 
wall of ever^ building; midway between the 
front and rear, wilh a hose hole on every 
story. By this arrangement, in times of 
fire, the steamer's hose could be attached to 
this nerpendicular pipe, and thus fhcilitate 
the nremen, who would be relieved of the 
necessity of carrying a large quantity of 
hose into the upper parts of buildings. 

In Oiocinnati, for the most dangerous 
wooden tenements not more than one-half 
per cent, is now asked for insurance. 

J44nmd to tiM QMamt FirtrntnK qf Oa^famia fty 

Fire! Fire! Fire! 

Tyrant, ruthless, dh;e. 
Pitying neither sex, nor age, 
Kor rich, nor poor, nor swain, nor sage.— 
The lowly cot, the palace proud, 
▲like, to earth, by thee, am bowed. 
Kan's proudest oonfidenoe and trust, 
By thee, are made to lick the dust.— 
What misery is in thy coil 1 
Swallowing up Whole years of toil. — 

Fire! Fire! Fire! 

Higher, H^her, Higher;— 
What Demon bids £ee to rage on. 
Pour thy hot flame till all is gone. 
Thy black smoke vomit, spit thy spite. 
Thy terrors strike, in deaa of night, 
When babes, like angels, sleep in peace. 
And labor's toHs a moment oease. 
When sickaeas pale, c^ snatch again 
A little rest from wasting pain 1— 

Fire! Fire! Firel 

Hie her, Hie her, Hie her. — 

Te GaUant Firemen ! Boast and pride 

Of ev'ry city far and wide. 

Bring your bright pet of Science fiur,— 

Hurl her defiance m the ur I — 

Nor heed ye not the Tyrant's roar ; 

Hither the precious liqaid poun 

On— on^-pour on— Ye Noble Crew, 

To Duty, ever, ever true. 

Fire! Fire! Fire! 

Nigher, Nigher, Nigher 
Draw up your little conqueror,, 
Ne'er yet, in duty, defaulter, ' 

But, IB each hour of peril, nigh. 
Like the brave sailors cherub high,* — 
A readv help in time of need, 
Wid& all a winged anAel's speed ; — 
Drown, drown, the K&aster Demon Foe, 
Where'er hQ dans hia sQioke to show. 


Liar, Liar, Liar.^ 
Thy threat of leaving aaoght behind 
Of all the city, is confiA^d 
To. one smali miserable spot ;•*- 
As ought to be each ^yrant'a lot.— 
Ah 1 ha ! Thou Lord of Deviltry !— 
Our gallant crew have conquer'd thee.— 
No more thy red hot snakes are curling. 
Midst falling walls, and timbers hurling. 

Fire! Fire! Fire! 

Retire, Retire, Retire.— 
Nor dare to raise thy Tyrant head 
Where our brave Firemen choose to lead. 
Know well thy duty is to cheer. 
The dull cold pights of winter drear ; 
To warm the heart, to cook our food. 
To melt the ore from matrix rude. 
To speed the traveller on his road. 
To lessen labor of its load. 

Firel Fire! Firel 
Lyre! Lyre! Lyre!— 
Now, O Fame ! tune each ihy string, 
For ev'ry rapturous bard to sing 
In praise, a never dying strain 
For martyrs the Fire Kinc has slain. — 
Weave, Memory, crowns for every head 
Our living Heroes, and our dead. — 
Go Fame ! proclaim on ev'ry strand 
These are the nobles of our land I 

* For d>e tee, there's a eweet little ehemb elolt, 
tttsmiliiif aiMlwatcWng Ibr the Ufe of Poor JMk 

DlMlln*! Song. 

' Thkrb is a tnan In this city who is no 
Ijolite that he begs his own pardon evei^ 
time he tumbles down ' and thanks hinoadx 
as politely every time he gets up agun. 

AJphonee KaiT, the French author, ham 
this sin|^lar yet truthful motto QpoD his 
ttgoet nng : '* I fear only thoee I love." 

"Kb ■ a town or ccMiiderable Import- 
ntt, not cdIj on tccoaot of tbe extengiTe 
diKgingB aroaDd it, but alw from its beinf^ 
■taded, n at one time coosiilered, at tite 
(■d of 'wagon aaTi^tion* near tbe bead 
of tbe Bacramento Talle; ; the bigh aod 
ragged BoaiitMii cbaim aad Bpara banog 
ifcat oat tbe mining localities north of 
Sbaata ftom tbe benefit oT troosporbition 
iijtmm»i cotueqeeatlj as Uiat popalooE 
diKrict dwWed tbeir priocipal snpplies hj 
tbis route it be<:anie Decessarj to pack tbnn 
M snlcB, and io the gntnmer of 1854 there 
were bo Icm tkao two tbnuBand malea em- 
ploy in tbe packing trade of this place ; 
aid, "aa mcfa male would average Dot less 
(baa two bnndred poands of treigbt, and aa 
tbe BMtt reetote point to whicb goods are 
bkta wifl not oecnpj more than two 
weiAa — and in nuoj inataacea tbree or 
foar dajs lest, it is a Terj moderate <^- 
cvlatjoa to average tbe trips of tbe entire 
two tboQSMid males at two weeks each, 
wUcb will give a remit of one bandred 
toaa per week as the aggregate amount of 
ftcigbt pkcked from Shasta; which, at the 
tow tgwie ot Sts cents per ponnd wonid' 
gi*« tbe snn of twenty tboosand dollars 
pw Mp to tb« paekcn." 

This packing trade therefore m^es 
Sbaatft a ' very linly and important point. 
Shonld tbe new wagon road np tbe 
Sacramento be fully opened, it will donbt- 
less somewhat afieet its baslnew prospects. 

This town originated from Major Read- 
ing baling discovered gold, in the spring 
of 1849, and successfully employed a num- 
ber of Indians and Others to work for him : 
at which time it was iuiown as ' Beading's 
Springs ' — and Beading's Dry Diggings. 

In 1850 a public meeting was convened, 
and iU first name was changed to Shasia ; 
— supposed to be from the Russian word 
" tchatsa " signifying eliasle or chaste mouih 
(oiai. Since thai time the toirn has 
moved down the side ot tbe hill a little, 
to Its present locality, and where it bas 
grown to tbe large and flourishing place 
it DOW is. Like man; other large niiuirig 
towns it has been destroyed b; fire ; first on 
June 14Ui, 1853— nexton Nov, 28th of the 
same year; when fire-proof bnitdinga were 
commenced, the first of wbich was erected 
by Bull, Bikher & Co. The principal por- 
tion of this town now is flre-prouf. aiuj by 
its snbstantiol appearance proves the per- 
odd enterpriss of its bnsinest 


uw MiLi. KULBOAD OX TH* MOBTW voKK Or TRi Cbtmnmi mtTMM. 

Tbe illnitrfttioit ftbove, rfpreaeatiiig « I tbe ConnneH riTer, nnr Sly Pkik, ihcvt 
€k« M Ul BmItcmj, cOD«tnel«d on tbe ude | what U knd can be done to Mcompliab » 
of* tteep nonaUiii, on the dotUi fo^of ) pTCn parpaw, wbeo it u nqiurcd. Intba 



nnnmer of 1852 ibis railroad and a saw 
mill were erected in this wildly romantic 
•pot, under the soperintendeoce of Dr. Brad- 
lf7 of the corporation of Bradley, Berdan 
k Co., for the purpose of sawing the lum- 
ber reqaired in the construction of their 
krge caoa!, from this stream to the miuiDg 
towns of Ringgold, Weberville, Diamond 
Springs, Missouri Flat, El Dorado City, 
(then called Mud Hprings,) Logtown, and 
several other mining localities in the south- 
ern portion of £1 Dorado county, to supply 
thoie districts with water for mining. 

This railroad is built' upon an inclined 
plane, at the (often quoted) angle of forty- 
five degrees, for the purpose of lowerfng 
SAw-logs to the mill. The car descends with 
\Xs load, and being attached by a rope thro' 
a pulley at the top to the empty car, the 
weight descending causes the empty oar to 
scceod ; and by which contrivance the ne- 
cessity of any other kind of machinery for 
that parpose is obviated. 

We happened to be one of a very agree- 
able little party to visit this singular place, 
and eoald the reader have seen us — ladies 
and gentlemen, cold chickens and sand- 
wiches, boiled ham and water melons, blan- 
kets and dagnerrean instruments— all snugly 
stowed away in that coach, and then have 
heard the jokes and fun going on, if he had 
not been envioos of our ei^oyment, we know 
bs woaM like to have been of the party ,~-. 
that is, if he liked pleasant company. 

Now it so happened that we all endorsed 
the opinion that frolic was better than pills ; 
snd pore mountain air than powders ; and 
opefrbearted, jovial, and unrestrained laugh- 
ter, better than medicine of any kind ; 
however, it seemed to be well understood, 
that care was to be left behind. It is pleasi 
ant to forget care for at least one day, is it 
not reaikr T Perhaps, though — ^we say per- 
hap9 — ^yoo may bdong to those long-faced, 
slab^ided, doorpost-built, cold-and-immov- 
able eooafeenaiiesd kind of folks, who don't 
bdieve ia Ain, and certainly not in pio-nic 
particsL Well then, we pity yon ; no we 
doot cither, for yon don't deserve it— yon 

don't. Yon may be like a friend of ours 
who is always thinking that things in gen- 
.eral— just now — look remarkably blue ; and 
things in particular, particularly black — 
not a bright, but a diUl black. If he has 
just come out of a good speculation, (for he 
is generally successful,) he hangs his face in 
elongated mourning, lest he should go in on 
the next. When he is well — which is very 
seldom — he looks daily forward, with ago- 
nizing anxiety to the day when he may be- 
come sick — and the moment he begins to 
feel unwell, he has day visions of Death, 
with his scythe and hour glass at his side ; 
and although he dislikes the thousrht of him 
exceedingly, he will keep him in imagina- 
tion by his bed — no doubt wishing (just for 
the looks of the thing, and to oblige him,) 
that he would put those weapons of his in 
the cupboard, or leave theoi at the; foot of 
the stairs 1 

Now, if you claim any sympathy or rela- 
tionship with this . eminent friend, we are 
glad that you were not of the party, simply 
beoaase we don't like sour faces. They 
don't look right, well enough no doubt in 
the curd and cheese bnsiness, but not good 
for pic-nics. 

On, on, we go, as men^ as crickets ; now 
passing through long forests of trees ; now 
ascending or descending a gently rolling 
hill ; then taking alternates doses of dust 
and soda water— jokes and cakes — until we 
arrived at the top of a hill overlooking a 
cafion. Here, on looking down, we saw 
something resembling two long lengths of 
broad ribbon with bars across, lying on 
the ride of the hill. When the question 
was asked, *' What is that ?" it was an- 
swered with '' that is a railway, and we take 
all our logs down that rail to the mill — ^that 
dark spot down yonder ; and we have all 
to take a ride on it to the mill." 

** I never can ride down there I" cries a 

** 0, yes," urges a gentleman. 

•• Why that railway ia nearly aprlgfatr 
queries a second lady. 

"Oh, dear riighs* third. 



« Never niind," Boothingty soggesU a 
second gentlemaii. 
** I never can I" objects another lady. 
" If ^e rope should break !'' suggests a 


** Why, really there is no danger," cries 
gentleman number three, " for altogether 
we ape not as heavy as a green pine log, 
and that never broke it." 

^ fter some hesitation and delay, one gent 
seats bimself in the ca^, (fitM op with seats 
for the occasion,) and with sundry questions 
and. entreaties, and sighs and oh dears, the 
whole party join him, and at last we are all 
safely seated ; while beneath th^ seats aite 
the water-meloDS and blankets, cOld fowl 
and dagaerrean instruments, cakes and 
shawls, pies and over-coats. Now olf we 

*^ Oh, do stop I stop ! oh do I" cries^t lady. 

" I will get out !" exclaims another. 

But one and all affirm tfuU to be next to 

" It is too steep ever to reach the river on 

" Let me try," beseeches a lady. 

" Then— if you toiU" answers agent, ** I 
will assist you." 

And she did try, and the gent did assist 
her to the bottom ; bat oh 1 ye tall pines 
and spreading oaks, what a time they had 

Slowly again we started, and with many 
heart flutteriogs and tremblings, fears and 
exclamatioDS, od, on, we go, until the anti- 
cipated danger over, we all stand in safety 
at the bottom of the railway ; and then we 
calmly looked our enemy in the £ftce and 
took courage. 

" Bless me 1" ^ 

*' Catch me on that again !" 

" Who'd have thought it?" 

** How steep it looks !" 

" Oh dear me!" 

" Well, I never !" 
' " No youdon't— if Iknowmyselfl" with 
sundry other remarks of surprise and con- 
solation, were interrupted by our guide and 
host, Dr. B , who informed us that the per- 
pendicular height of the hill from where 
wo stood to the top, was seven hundred feet, 
end the lentrth of the railway on the steep 
side of the hill, was only one thousand feet 
in length. 

" You tew the building on the top, where 
the logs lie ?" he continued. 

" Yes." 

"That is called by the workmen the 
* hypo,' and the mill down h^re where we 
stand, they call the * depot.' Just look 

We did look around, but what a wild, 
craggy place for a mill, that itself was built 
upon rocks ; the fire-place, hearth and chim- 
ney in the kitchen were all natural formsr 
tions of the rock. A flume which has been 
constructed, is built, or rather hung upon 
rocks ; a prop here, a packing there, and a 
brace yonder^ here, a tree cut off, formed a 
post'; there, a rock formed a stay ; while 
the water rushed and leaped on, on, down 
the steep rocky bed of the river, as though 
it cared for nothing and no one. 

Friend B. we give you credit for your 
undaunted perseverance. This work, with 
many others, shews what can be accom- 
plished by patient, unswerviug determina- 
tion and skill. If at any time a miner 
should, for a moment, be disposed to think 
lightly of water companies, we wish him to 
visit the upper, "end of most of our canals, 
there to witness the expense, labor and en- 
ergy expended on them. At this mill was 
sawed all the lumber needed in the con- 
struction of the flume ; besides supplying 
many thousands of feet of lumber, for sluice 
making and other purposes, in the settle 
ments below. 

It is a magnificent sight to see the stately 
pine and venerable oak, growing upon and 
among vast piles of rocks ; in some instunces 
a large overhanging tree growing in the 
seam, or between two rocks, as though it 
were a lever placed there by nature to pve^ 
turn portions of the mountain above, add- 
ing wildness, boldness, beauty and sublimity 
to the beautiful landscape. 

After enjoying the good things provided 
by our worthy host, and all the pleasant 
and exbilerating recreations of fun and frolic, 
we wended our way along a plank on the 
top of a serpent-like flume, until it inter- 
sected the road below, (as none cared to 
ascend that railway again,) where our coach 
had been sent to meet us, and soon we were 
'* all aboard," and on our way homeward, 
indulging in the ^miniseences and enjoy- 
ments the trip had afforded us. Should any 
of our readers ever go upon a jimut of this 
kind, they have our be^t wiahes that an 
equal amount of pleasant and sunny glad- 
ne^ may keep them company on the way, 
and then we know that they will say, ** Yes, 
we enjoyed it," when the journey is ended. 

" Well, let us go, as it is about time all 
honest folks were in bed." 

Ah 1 yes — ^then /had better be off— but 
you need'nt hurry on that account 1 

" I see better without wine and spectacles 
thafi when I use both,'^ said Sidney Smith. 




Do joa not remember friend of mine, 

Tbe icfaool-hoase brown and ruBtj, 

Hoir gently the sammer rain came down 

On tbe roof tree old and dnsty ; 

b m» there wc early learned to love 

And Toa with me tmc-hcarted, 

Remember the nooks where we used to rove 

And the ties forever parted I 

The flowen we bound in each other's hair, 
Tbe whispered words of greeting, 
The childish carols that cleft the air, 
The kiss at parting and meeting ; 
To dar bright fancies hand in hand 
Thro' Memory's niches roving. 
Art calling the forms of oar parted band, 
Tbe early lov'd and loving I 

Never more may the little feet 
That of erst so lightly pattered. 
Come like the fail of music sweet, 
For the old school-honse is shattered ; 
Tis only in faithful hearts like ours 
That a dream of it is cherished, 
A single blossom in Memory's bowers 
That the years have left unperished ! 

AlTKA M. B. 



AD ages have had their great men, — 
C«nr aaU Cioero were great men in their 
dajs. In Uter times Washington and 
Bonaparte. We have also great men at 
the present day, among whom none can be 
(rfond more eminent than Caleb Soudggers. 
Hit wTv«tb of fame is not that won by sword 
and Mood, bat that fairer one with which 
Scieaee adorns the brows of her fiavorites. 
He baa poraied his investigations with a 
Bind coDStitnted of the happiest mixtnre of 
tbe thfporetical and experimental, and his 
fitartliog discoveries will carry his name 
d^iwn to posterity as a great benefactor of 

In giving these papers to the world, I 
think 1 may modestly say, that I have as 
dar a sense of the responsibility of my office 
an it » ponible for any one to have; — 
aad knowing with what avidity every thing 
omioected with Caleb Snadggers' scientific 

investigations will be sought, I have spared 
DO lat^r to trace the slightest action of 
that illustrious individnaL 

I can safely say, that after my diligent 
researches, the first indication that his 
gigantic powers were working upon the 
subject, wnich was subsequently so clearly 
demonstrated in that renowned undertak- 
ing, ** Snudggers' Investigations into Table- 
turning," was shown in his (aft^r having 
been mysteriously thoughtful for several 
days, so much so that persons who were 
acquainted with that great man's peculiar- 
ities, remarked that, Snudggers was on 
some scent,) inviting a select company 
to his cabin. Alter the company was 
assembled, Snudggers took Blodget by the 
button-hole, and, alter leading him beyond 
the hearing of tbe rest, addressed him as 
follows : 

** I feel it my duty to my fellow-man to 
Investigate, and* lay before the world, 
stripped of its mystery, this phenomenon 
of table-turning, which keeps the world in 
commotion. I think, and I hope with be- 
coming modesty, that I need but pee the 
action to find the cause, in consideration 
of wbich I have determined to form a circle 
and would be happy of your assistance." 

Tbe same words, I find by much labor, 
he repeated in the same manner to everv 
member of the circle. They all shook 
their heads and cast knowing glances at 
each other, while Snudggers arranged a 
table and seatf>, as silently as if his mighty 
intellect was sleeping ; but when the ar- 
rangement was completed, then burst forth 
the hidden power, which the awfiil stillness 
had betokened. Seizing a folded news- 
paper, which contained some account of 
the mystery, and holding it in one hand 
like a baton, he leaned gracefully forward 
resting the other hand on the table, thus 
began : 

'' I have, gentk^men," pausing and look- 
ing around on the assembled group to 
make his words more impressive — ^** re- 
quested your attendance here to-night, to 
assist me in the furtherance of some scienti- 
fic inveetigatioDs. Every mail," continued 
he, slowly extending the paper baton, 
** comes freighted with rumors of the mani- 
fisstation ot a mystery too deep for man to 
solve ; that is for the common analytical 
minds which have had to do with it." The 
shadow of a depreciating smile plaved over 
his manly features as he continued, " But, 
gentlemen, genius jumps at conclusions ; 
and I faop«? I may sav without any appear- 
ance of self praise, that my powers are <d 


that order, ir there be any here who 
doabt it, I woald refer Uiem to my re- 
searches ia Feline Electricity which star- 
tled the world by their originality. Who, 
I aak, bat a genios would have ever eon- 
cmved the idea of takinff a cat into a durk 
cloaet and rubbing her hair against the 
grain, antil it led to ihese important dia- 
coveries? Is there any one here who dow 
not know what they were ?^I hope not, 
sincerely I hope not. But ir there is, I tell 
him in commiseration ol'his if^norance that 
they were of the moft startling kind, — 
that the cat became so highly charged, that 
with a tremendona yell, the charge reacted 
npot myself, with what force my bleeding 
hands and Tace attested. A mind which 
bad the power to gmsp and sncceffolly 
combat the difficnities aurronnding the 
tratha of Feline electricity, can, 1 think, 
withoQt any doubt as to the result, under- 
take the Bolntion of tTiis less abstmae 
mystery. I wonid fain have parsaed my 
iaveeiigationg alone, but I find from the 
unsatisfactory reports that it it impossible, 
and I have chOBen yon, gentlempu, as those 
I wonId moat like to have bentStted by the 
celebrity of my researches." he paused and 
looked condescendingly n[M)n them. "In 
order," he continned, " that they may par- 
take of the method and regularity, which 
diaracterizea my undertakings, I propcae 
to Rive them a name, and think they may 
be appropriately called, " Snndirgets' In- 
vesti^tions into Tabletaming." As he 

Kuseid a general mnrmur of ascent was 
ird, he bowed slighlly in acknowledge- 
ment, and continued: "as the 3light«8t 
thing will be of importance, I deem it 
expedient to appoint a secretary.and would 

select Mr. Ashbry Snobs, as a person cap- 
able by his high attainments, to fill Ihit 
important ofBce, (SnoliB bowed) and now. 
gentlemen, we are prepared to C'>rnm ni^i." 
They were seated with some regard to 
temperamenta, which, I jud^e the worthy 
secretary did not qaite comprehend, and so 
made a large blut in bis book. The im- 

firession which the ecene mode on the 
ampnted Snobs, as ho has noted It down, 
is highly intereating. It la a sight cal- 
culated to impress one deeply with the 
solemnity and method, with which all 
invest igations mast be carriid on ia order 
to be successful. At the head of the table 
sits the illustrions Caleb Snndggen), of 
whose physical appearance it can be truly 
said (as it has ottea been figuratively re- 
marked in compliment to his piercing 
inttlleet) ihat " he bus a head as long as a 
horse's " — there he alia with transcendent 
intellect beaming from every lineoment 
of his dignified featnres. On his right 
Bits Blodget, the manlv Blodget of whom 
hia admiring friend Sulks so often says, " If 
there is any one man made more iu the 
imaee cf his Maker than another, that miiD 
is Blodget." On the left of Snudggers aits 
Snlks, the admiring friend of Blodget, who 
thiiiba aa he thinks, says as he says, and 
doea BB be does, without asking why or 
wherefoie. Tlieir relation to each other 
has been expressed in ways, all synonymoos 
of their seeing with the same viaion. Next 
to Sulka aila the increduloos Weeks, who 
has never been known to proceed thus ht 
in anything before, without eaidaiming, 
" I'll not take that in, I'm no aardine." the 
allusion to this particular species of Gab, 
being a cooventional phrase, about eqni» 
alent to Those great 
scales, the world's opinion, 
have weighed Weeks and 
found him wauling, and be 
baa been branded as 'too 
ultra to admit fiicts,' Oppo- 
site Weeks sits 0. Sluppy, 
the abstracted man, wbose 
one idea is the freedom of 
Irehind, and who is eternally 
muttering in hia abstractioD, 

"For tnttma't Bghl, whan Ant 
BfiqnauhedlhMu bl«sdlii( dn la . 
Tfaonch bifllod aft. It «t*r mn.' 

Last, thongh not least, 
comes Jones, who is slightly 
tinctured with the poetic, 
and who never nndertolies 



•07 thing bat that he briD^ his mase to 
aid him. Sach is the illastiMDB oompany 
aov ia the earnest parsnit orscienoe. 

The impressive silence remained vn- 
brY)ken for a long time; finally sundry 
movements, on the part of Jones began to 
attract attention. If Jones had &en a 
child he might have been said to have been 
vrifsgling in bis seat ; bat not being a child 
hid motions partook as much of the sinuos- 
ity of the movements of the serpent as 
the **homan form dNine" would admit. 
Snodirgers' eye lighted, — it was evidently 
the first nmnifestation of the strange phen- 
omenon ; all eyes were fixed upon Jones, 
who ander the confiicting circunastances 
became perAsctly miserable, — for the truth 
was, a fl^ was amusing itself at the expense 
of that poetical individual. " Oh " thought 
Joocn (as he after ward;* remarked to Snob<>) 
**how consoling ;t would be to nail the 
SMMHter, or at least give one long scratch 
to the afflicted part ; -but the chain — the 
iovc^gatioos of the great Smidggers must 
be broken to accomplish that, and as it 
was, my misery was protracted like the 
closing line uf a Spenserian stanza ;^ither 
illemative was dreadful to contemplate." 

Bo' Jones like most other mortals, was 
made of cUiy, although, perhaps of a higher 
order; and that ckiy possessed among 
others m peculiar capacity called feeling, 
which rendered him very susceptible to 
flea bitPs; — and, not being as stoical as 
•ome savages, or as philosophical on the 
•object of bearing pain as some ancient 
phikaophers, he writhed in the anguish of 
that tortured susceptibility. But there is 
a point of desperation, in which men regard 
■o coQsequenoes, and Jones arrived at that 
point; jerking his hand from the table, 
with tach force that he nearly upset it, he 
lit apoo the unsuspecting torturer, with a 
dexterity tnily commendable, and tore his 
hesd from his floated body. Snodggers 
had been surprised at the first moments, 
bat when be saw the sequel, he became so 
iodignantly astonished as to appear almost 
iovQiiible. Blodget sent a withering glance 
at poor Jones ; Sulks ditto, of course ; 0. 
Snappy was completely abstracted, and the 
semblaace of a smile played on the features 
of the incredulons Weeks. The circle was 
renewed without a word being spoken, — 
hot shortly after, Snudg^gers, having re- 
eovered from his astoni&ment, proceed 
to enlighten the circle, with his intended 
eoane of proceedings in nearly the follow- 
ing words. "In pursuing scientific 10- 
vestigmiions, it is neoesBary to assome some 

facts as truths, as a basis 00 which to' build 
a theory. Whether these assumed facts be 
truths or not is immaterial, since the con- 
clusions arrived at will be true without 
regard to them. I find in the contradictory 
reports, that this phenomenon is mostly 
ascribed to the agency of spirits ; and I 
shall assume the same, and shall confirm 
or disprove that assumption as the circum- 
stanced justify me in so doing." The circle 
appeared deeplv impressed with the lucid 
explanation or the intentions of their illos- 
trious leader. AAer some little time 
Snudggers solemnly said : 

" If there are any spirit«^ present they 
will please tip the table." Nothing broke 
the intense silence which ensued. Biodget 
asked the same with the same result. The 
request went rouTid in the same way with 
the same result except that, Weeks asked 
the table to tip without any reference to 
the agency of spirits, and Sulks, who ad- 
jured the table to tip toward Biodget in 
vain. The silence which followed was long, 
again the request went round, and varioup, 
st)appings and crackings was the resnlt, " a 
decided manifestation " said Snudggers, — 
'* a decided mnnifestation " echoed all the 
others except Wetks, and the meeting ad- 

A week bad parsed and again the chosen 
few were assembUd around their distin- 
guished leader ; every thing was arranged 
and they were about to commence the sit- 
ting, when Jones arose and said : *' If you 
will indulge me for one moment I will read 
a slight tribute, in the form of an invoca- 
tion to spirits, inscribed to our noble 
guide." "With the greatest pleasure," 
said Snudggers. "You will perceive." 
resumed Jones, *' that it is in the form of an 
acrostical sonnet; while pondering upon 
the form of verse in which to clothe my 
invocation, I was struck wih the remark- 
able coincidence of your name containing 
the requisite number of letters for the 
acrostical sonnet, and I did not hesitate to 
take the advantage of it."— Jones then 
read the following : 



Come, spirits, from yoar heftvenly dweOing plaoa 
Above this grov'ling earth— the realm which ttan 
Light with their lovellueM ;— thi« dull clay bar» 
Enqniring mortals from the abyss of spaco I 
Bright splriu aid our eflbrts I we would fly. 
Hwlfter than dazslisg beam which ever fell, 
Nor snn, nor star, to where yoar legions dwell 
Up la the reqrions of the bonndleas sky : 
Dost tbougfa w« b«, aad •• dnst doomed to di^« 
Oo wbenee we eama- yt still a votoa Mith, 



** OriflTe not ; tho eonl shall soar avrar on high, 
Enclosed no more by daj or fear ox death." 
Reveal, blest spirits, to this n^ortal eye 
Bights which we pant for in our faltering faith I 

"Jones" said Snudggers, as Jones fin- 
ished reading, "accept my sincere grat- 
itude, aDd bf lieve me this is the happiest 
moment of my lire. If there is anyrhiog 
that can smooth the roagh road of science, 
it is to feel that our labors are ap0|^ciated 
by men of high intellectaal parts. It has 
too often been the case that men who have 
trodden the path of science before me, have 
labored through poverty to death, their 
noblest efforts unappreciated, and tlieir 
only reward the proud consciousness of the 
inestimable value of their discoveries to 

*' After this beautiful tribute to my poor 
talents, by one so justly celebrated for the 
unrivaled soaring of his thought, I shall 
ffird myself more cheerfully to meet the 
difficulties of my pursuit" . 

After this touching speech, which was 
delivered with that effect which only 
Snndggers could give, the circle was 
formed differing to the previous sitting, 
and their chief proceeded to enlighten his 
followers in nearly these words: "Since 
our former sitting I have devoted much 
time to the study of our present pursuit. 
I find that the rigid silence we kept at the 
other sitting, is not necessarily to be pre- 
served, — a sober tone of conversation in no 
way affects the manifestation. 

I also find it advised by some, that if any 
one becomes impressed involuntarily with an 
idea, he should write it down, as it may be 
the premonitory symptoms of an impressive 
medium ; — I have accordingly placed writ- 
ing materials upon the table, and I hope if 
any one feels a strange thought, he will not 
hesitate to write it down. 

As to the causes of these manifestations, 
I have not yet arrived at any conclusion, — 
there are so many advanced ; but I have 
fixed upon one far more plausible than the 
rest, which I have found coroborated in a 
very unlooktd for direction 1'his theory 
supposes the existence of a subtle flui>i 
called the odious force, [It is probable 
that the distinguished Snudggers meant 
odic /orce, and had either mistaken the 
term, or substituted, odious, as "a more 
proi)erer word." — Ed.] which pervades all 
nature; — similar in its characteristics, 
though much more subtle, to electricity ; — 
iudeed some think it a refined form of ihat 
element It is held that this fluid is per- 
ceptible to our unaided senses, in the form 
of a fkint halo aroond a perbon or body in 

the dark. Now my theory is, that this 
fluid, by its Unknown qualities, forms an 
element peculiarly adapted to the existence 
of spirits, and is a medium by which they 
descend from their high homes to hover 
about our earth. We can easily conceive 
something in the peculiar arranoferoent of 
a circle similar to this, is favoraole to the 
abundant production of this spiritual ele- 
ment, and forms a chain by which man may 
commune with immortals. The unlooked 
for corroboration, which I mentioned, I 
found in the person of a heathen — I must 
say a pagan. In the course of my diligent 
researches I had inquired of a Chinaman if 
the phenomenon existed in his country, and 
to my surprise (for I had thought it per- 
fectly new) found that it did. He informed 
me that by placing a piece of light- wood 
(which everybody knows to be a particular 
kind of decayed wood ; the peculiar qual- 
ities of which are not only highly compati- 
ble with the pre-conceived idea of the 
odious force, but rather confirm that sup- 
position) upon the head, in a few moments 
you will see the evil spirit — you are not, of 
ourse, to take the word in its literal mean- 
ing, but as one by which, in their imperfect 
knowledge of our language, they express 
their idetf of spirits." Now ** continued 
Snudggers in his c'ear and convincing 
argument," with this coroborative fact, the 
existence of an odious force becomes highly 
plausible, and we have only to pursue our 
investigations with diligence to arrive at 
this great truth." 

The convincing power of this argument 
was resiatless ; even Weeks looked le^s 
skeptical than usual, and the gravity of 
conviction settled upon the features oi the 
whole circle as they relapsed into silence. 
The silence had lasti'd some time when 
Blodget gravely took the pencil, wrote a 
few words and resumed his former position 
without uttering a word. Snudggers seized 
the paper as hastily as his dignity would 
permit, and read : — 

" Truth lies near ns : but uKsn, like cattle, 
will still pursue a beaten and ever-deviating 
path, rather than tread a new and nearer 
one, — the millenium ia near." 

" Truly," said Snudggers, " an inspired 

" The simile," said Jones, " so beautifully 
simple." Blodget did not seem to heed 
these encomiums, and the circle again re- 
lapsed into silence. Suddenly Sulks seized 
the pencil and wrote, and sat back with all 
the gravity of Blodget, while the illustrious 
Snudggers read ; " Man might commune 


with Mucele, bat like Hiriiie, will grovel in 
Gltb nkthtr than Bi-ek tslrer flalila— he booq 
sball Bee biB error." 
" The simile," said Jooes, " so beAatihlly 

-Mr. Solki" broke fa the enrazeJ 

SriuJgjtere, "I am ustiiniahed to sw: this. 
I iot'^nde'l these invra ligations should oot 
b« moTv hmooB Tor ihuir deptb. tfaeir 
originalitj : — aDd here I del«jct, hidden in 
the nioeet dls^ise, a base atteii][it at inii- 
(suoo, aawonbyan; member of this cir- 
cfe,— I hope I shaU gee no more such I " 
8alka' look of grave Imporlwice changed 
lo one aapposed to be exceedingly ranitliar 
lo afaepberds; Jonea color beighieaed at 
the nti^pli^^atioo or bis favorite eulog; ; 
Vftxki seemed in ward lyp 'eased ; 0. Siuppj 
abstracted as ever, and Blodget imperturb- 

Anio the silence had lasted long, when 
Soodggwi gravely said, " If there are any 
ipirils present tbej will pleaM tip the 
table." Every member of the circle held 
hi? breath as they saw ttie table slowly tip 
towards Blodget and O. Sluppy, and as 
•lowly TCgaio its former poaitiun. " There 
titry are," was the seDten- 
tioas remark of the celebra- 
ted Snadggers. " What a 
pmliar senwtion " cried 
.) [mi's. eaiKT Lo wi pe out t be 
ihune of his late blander. 
- I It-It u if 1 HoareU aluft 
□a airy wings." 

- W ill ibe spirits com- 
a<ked Sondggera, " if to 
pi™« tip the table,"— 
the table rose. " At^k them 
if thpre is any hope for Ire- 
atiJ,"«idO.Sbippy, c^m 
isc oat of bia alMtrHct fit. 
" I wiah yoa to bold your 
tnnne," replied Snudggerg, 
wiLhoiiw him with a 
glana. " I have a course 
of ny own which I shall paisue. 

.Vs editor of these papera.l ""- -....^ 
at a poiot where it becomes incumbent od 
■e to cast some inferencea, and draw some 
ronclosion from the lerminaling incidenis. 
I mizlit tell yon how some things nurse in 
ilKBMdns the seed of tbeir owd destnic- 
Uoo ; — I aaiRfat tell yon of other 
fnoftUy illostriona with the great Sondggere, 
whom " ingratitude more strong than tro' 
tar's arm. qnite vanqaished." Bnt I wi 
■at. 1 will give the conclnding scene i 
iirrlj lbs words of the lata Mr. Boobs, 

who, jndging from his writing at this poiat, 
was highly excited. 

" O ror ■ uncnf lo cnnc Itui ilwa 
Wtia» treuon, like a deidlr btlgbt 
Comei o'er Ui« wnnclli of Uis br^ra 

Weeks, the skeptical, who heretofore had 
fnt perfectly silent, at this point jnmpid up 
exclaiming, " I'll not take that in, — I'm no 
RBrd i no (<— nobody needn't teil me that old 
Blodgct's paws didn't tip that table." 
" Weeks," indignantly eaid Snndggers, 
"^ou'r a fool." "I'm not fool eaongh," 
cried Weeks highly excited " to be hum- 
bagged by two FQuh conceited and con- 
temptible old noodles as you and Blodget." 
Slung by ibis slanderous insult on his fair 
character, tho digniSed Snudggers for qaae 
forgot his dignity, — and rising in trembling 
rape, he shook his Gat in unpleasHnt prox- 
imity with Weeks' nose, and reiterated the 
world's opinion — "You are loo d — d ultra 
lo admit tacts." Those words were like a 
spark in Weeks' maguzine of wrath, be ex- 
ploded, and a fragment, supposed to be his 
tist, cume in such a forcible contact with 
Bnudggers' nose, that It aeut that great 
persoiiage reeling to the floor. 



ntcbad opoB tb* pUlB, 
TV uiiDugn rvuiBtt fllondi to Kt»r afmlii, 
i Ut own hither on the tUii itn. 
Ingcd tb< ahiitt tau qtdaand la hta baut; 

Druk tbs liul llfe-dnp ofblibtHdlDgbreuL" 

Weeks tore fnrionsly round, profooelj' 
exclaiming, "let me maul him,— 111 give 
him spiritual rappinga to bis heart's con- 
tent!" and he would donbtlees have been 
a« good aa his word, bat he was forcib^ 
reatraioed f^m bis charitable intentions, 
by SnUu and Jonat. The great Snodggen 



rose to his feet, a beaatifal exemplificatioD 
of the Bentiment, that : — 

" Truth enuhed to earth shall rlso again." 

The hasty indiscretion of the moment was 
gone, and his mighty intellect was now 
clearly in the pursuit eif knowledge under 
difficulties Smiling though the blood and 
tears which covered his face, he ^yl aimed, 
" Gentlemen, I consider this exhWition of 
the odious force, perfectly satisfactory. 
However unworthy," he continued glanc- 
ing at the chafing Weeks "the instru- 
ments which Providence places in our 
hands, the truths arrived at through their 
instrumentality, are none the less beauti- 
ful. Through the agencv of that base per- 
son, (pointing a scornful finger at Weeks) 
I saw the spiritual element revealed in the 
form of a thousand brilliant stars, — and I 
now arrive at the conclusion, that the 
odious force, though much more powerful, 
is of a simihir character with Feline eleo- 



Oh I sweet was the ipot, by the side of the eot, 
Where we Mt in the bright inmnier honrs ; 
Where the beet hammed all day, on the white blos- 
somed spray. 
In love with the beaatifhl flowers. 
Where the sweet hamming bird, staree the rose- 
petals stirred, 
As it darted the tall sweet brier o'er, 
That clambered and spread, round the casement o'er 

Near the seat by the old oottage door. 

How often at noon, when the vertical snn. 

Was blaKlng aloft in the sky, 
Have I watched its beams straying, when the breeses 
were playing, 

With the woodbine leaves trdlised on high. 
How qnivering, now dancing, retreating, advancing, 

Mow skimming the old oaken floor — 
Like fairios they seemed, as they flickered and 

On the seat by the old cottage door. 

And often at eve, when each flower and each leaf 

Was hashed in its silent repose. 
Have I seen the moon rise, in the dear araie skies. 

O'er the hUl where the sycamore grows. 
When the stars one by one, came twinkling on, 

TUl they spanned Uie bine heavens o'er — 
Oh I how sweetly they gleamed, as serenely they 

On the seat by the old oottage door. 

There often we met, when the bright snn was set. 

At the close of the long snmmers day— 
That dear honsehold band, as we sat hand in hand. 

And chatted the evanlag away. 
There father and mother, and sister and brother, 

Qlanoed smiles of affection once more— 
Oh I the sweet days of old, how swiftly they rolled. 

At the seat by the old oottage door. 

ass Fmnctaco, Julg Ukk, 1SS7. J. T. t. 

A Prbttt Piboe of Busink^s. — An 
amusing incident occurred the other day in 
a fashionable private boarding house on 

street, Sacramento, in the following 

manner : — A young married couple, occu- 
pying one of the front parlors on the ground 
floor, were startled by a gentle rap at the 
door, and simultaneously a faint noise, roach 
resembling the cry of a young infant ; and, 
on opening the door, found a beautiful child, 
about a month old, lying on the door-rag. 
The youthful bride, with excited and won- 
dering surprise, strained her eyes to their 
utmost extent, as she started back exclaim- 
ing : " good heavens ! where'd that come 
from ?" " Sure enough I" said her friend 

Mrs. emerging from a door-way 

opposite, *' why, somebody has left it there 
for you, no doubt I" " Well, / won^thave 
it f I want no children, except my own !" 
and stepping over it she ran tu the door to 
see which way the supposed presumptuous 
donor had ran ; meanwhile the husband of 
the lady, in a state of excitement and con- 
sternation, rushed out to the garden gate, 
looking now one way and now the other, 
to endeavour to discover and bring back 
the unfeeling trespasser upon the hospitality 
and peace of strangers, declaring that it 
was "a pretty piece of business," and 
he'd " let e'm know that they had put it 
in the wrong box — this time." A simulta- 
neous burst of laughter from a dossen voices^ 
revealed to the unsuspecting couple that 
they had been "sold," as the baby had been 
borrowed for the occasion. 

" I wonder what is the matter with my 
watch," said a friend of ours in the presence 
of a little blue eyed girl of about five years 
of age—*' it stops and goes at interrals to 
suit itself— surely it must want cleaning^.^ 
Oh I no, papa, it cannot want cleaning," 
replied the little maid, " for yesterday I 
washed it well myself, and hung it on the 
clothes-line to dry, just the same way as 
Bridget does the clothes, papa, on washing 
dayP ** Ah you little puss yon," said her 
fikther, laoghiog, " watohes, my love, are not 



cUfmned in the same way as clothes are.* 
**No!papar "No my child." Here the 
whole process of cleaniog watches had to 
be fully explained to the iDtelligent little 
one before she-could be fully satisfied of the 
aStsnnce between the two. How sagges- 
tive to parents that they be patient, and 
wtU informed, gentle and instrucdve, that 
io doe eeaaoo the seed thus sown may pro- 
dace a harvest of blessedness upon their own 
hesds, as well as upon those of their chil- 


Heigh bo I it's very strange that when 
a leUow 18 going along at a quiet easy sort 
•f a jog, that people can't let him alone-— 
bat n(\ they mudit keep chucking him under 
the ribs, and singing out, old Bach I old 
B«ch ! oM Bach 1 I'm tired of it, and if 
they doot quit, I'll whip somebody. There's 
ao old woman over the way, who, every 
aonuDg when I take the watering pot, and 
with mj big straw hat, wrai)per and slip- 
pers oo, go into the garden, she must come 
to ber door and laugh ; if she don't mind, 
I'll boy a large dog, and then — bat I know 
what ails her, she nas a daughter — but ske 
oeed*nt come over for any more books, and 
lit, and talk, and bother, and tell me tliat 
this ought to be fixed so, and this to — ^I am 
foing to have thinfrs just as I like, and do 
JBrt a« I pleasie. But let me tell you how 
I was served the other night. Ao old 
frieui of mine turned Benedict, and I 
reopired a card intimating that my presence 
wooki be agreeable at a certain time. I 
VM simple enough to go, and there I found 
qoite a party of both sexes, including eight 
Bsrriageable young ladies. 

Daring the evening several of the com- 
pany commenced to twit me upon my 
tenacity to Bachelordom, and were ouite 
ftvere. One cruel, heartless individual. 
proposed to raffle me off— ju^t think of it ! 
—rafiB me nS. The proposition took like 
viki-fire — a hat was instantly procured, and 
eight slips of paper prepared, seven blank, 
•wi ooe with my name inscribed thereon, 
iodieating the prizs. The company seemed 
IO eoiOT the fan'(?) hughly, particularly 
the eight young ladies, who entered the 
tcbciae with an avidity only equalled by 
one Jack Warner, upon a certain occasion 
after * pKmn. The drawing commenced — 
Xo. 1, blank ; No. 2, ditto ; No. 3, same ; 
1 1 the pri» 1 Matilda Buckheart 

was the fortunate young woman. How she 
was congratulated and envied, and how 
happy she looked. What an air of exul- 
tant pride she wore ; and lyow they heaped 
their congratulations upon me, poor, miser- 
able sinner that I was — sold ! sacrificed to 
a freak of fortune, which made me the prop- 
erty of Miss Matilda Buckheart. 

Miss Mat Ida and myself met that even- 
ing for the first time, and in conversation 
with her last before the raffle, I learned that 
if she had many faulU, she had at least one 
virtue, and that, the tact of speaking openly 
and freely — nothing superficial about her^ 
her expressions were uttered boldly, with 
no attempt to conceal simple facts. In 
form she was short and stout, wit'i a large 
round face, as expressive as a baked apple — 
mouth very large, eyes very small I was 
introduced to, and at once entered into con- 
versation with her. 

** How long have you been a resident of 
the valley. Miss B. ?" 

"A what! sir?" 

'* A resident — ^how long have you lived 
in the valley ?" 

" Oh J about five months." 

" Have you been a re^ddent of the State 
long ?" 

" Sir ?" 

" When did you come across ?" • 

** Last seaaon — we arriv here in the fall.' 

'' Do you feel contented enough ^here to 
make California your home ?" 

" Rir ?'» 

" Do you like California T" 

" Wal, I reckon I do— why, when I was 
in Missouri, I was right slim, just look now 
how fat I am !" 

And here she thrust a hand upon each 
hip, threw her shoulders back, opened her 
eyes to their full extent, and looked straight 
at me. How she startled me. I could but 
confess that she was looking remarkably 
well, but begged her to excuse me for a 
moment as I wished to speak with a friend 
in the adjoining room. I rushed out of the 
house and sat upon a log in the back yard 
until I recovered, when I ventured in again. 
And this was the young woman who had 
won me. Happy fellow 1 I need not tell 
you that I remonstrated against such a pro- 
ceeding, and entered a solemn protest A 
judge was appointed, who declared that 
everything haid been done in strict accor- 
dance with law, and that beyond a doubt I 
WW the property of Miss Buckheart — bat 
upon one condition could be released, and 
that was, to be blind-folded and tied in a 
chairi when each of the eight young ladies 



sbonld kiss me, and if I conid tell the name 
of any one of them by the kiss, ray free- 
dom should be restored. I consented, be- 
cause I felt assured I could tell Matilda 
Buckheart — and was right the first time — 
I knew her by her breath. 
Yours tenderly, 

Fblixaxder Doings. 



We little thought when Mr. B. was a 
blue-shirted fellow miner and neighbor of 
ours, on Weaver Creek, in 1851 ; that (al- 
though a countryman of Robert Burns') 
" a chiePs amang ye taken notes, and faith 
he'll prent 'em," or we might have conducted 
ourselves with more decorum as chairman 
(on a pork-barrel) of the miner's meeting 
described in these pages. But how often 
is a man deceived by appearanceB-~-e8pe- 
cially in California? — and how often too 
has the self-sufficient and impertinent clerk, 
who put on more airs than his employer, 
been reproved by the manly intelligence 
and hugh purse of the roughly clad miner? 
No wonder that ** stove-pipes " then were 
at a discount, when they were chiefly as- 
sociated with the empty and supercillious 
heads of " young bloods " or " gamblers ; " — 
atd " purple and fine linen " with those 
who preyed upon the very vitals of a miner's 

Mr. Borthwick, however, has entered 
into the spirit of his labors, and presented 
to us a faithful and graphic picture of the 
early days of mining experiences in Cali- 
fornia ; which, while it takes us back among 
the times and scenes of the past to amuse 
and instruct, also affords us an excellent 
opportunity for constrast with the present. 

Six years of change in a new and con- 
stantly changing State — especially in Booh 
an one as this — are productive of great 
changes, indeed ; — and we say six years' 
because Mr. B. has written with '* first 
impressions " upon nearly every page of 
his interesting work ; and, although its life- 
like and characteristic contents are a truth, 

ful record of 1851, change in the habits, 
morality, and manners of our people make 
them untruthful for 1857. 

Th^ reader will no doubt bear this in 
m'nd as he enjoys with us the able and 
candid experiences of a journey to, and a 
three years residence in, the land of gold ; 
we therefore with great pleasure introduce 
Mr. Borthwick to speak for himselfl 



About the beginning of the year 1851, 
the rage for emigration to Calilornia from 
the United States was at its height. All 
sorts and conditions of men, old, young, 
and middle-aged, allured by the hope of 
acquiring sudden wealth, and foscinated 
with the adventure and excitement of a life 
in California, were relinquishing their exist- 
ing pursuits and associations to commence 
a totally new existence in the land of gold. 

The rush of eager gold-huuters was so 
great, that the Panama Steamship Compa- 
ny's office in New York used to be per- 
fectly mobbed for a day and a night 
previous to the day appointed for selling 
tickets for their steamers. Sailing vessels 
were despatched for Chagres almost daily, 
carrying crowds of passengers, while num- 
bers went by the different routes throogh 
Mexico, and others chose the easier, but 
more tedious passage round Ca})e Horn. 

The emigration from the West^-ru States 
was naturally very large, the inhabitants 
being a class of men whose lives are spent 
in clearing the wild forests of the West, 
and gradually driving the Indian from his 

Of these western-frontier men it is often 
said, that they are never satisfied if there is 
any white man between them and sundown. 
They are continually moving westward ; 
for as the wild Indian is forced to retire 
before them, so they, in their turn, shrink- 
ing from the signs of civilization which 
their own labors cause to appear aroand 
them, have to plunge deeper into the forest, 
in search of that wild, border-life which has 
such charms for all who have ever expe- 
rienced it. 

To men of this sort, the accounts of such 
a country as California, thousands of miles 
to tUe westward of them, were peculiarly 



attnctive ; and «o great was the emigra- 
tioo. that maoy parts of the Western States 
were nearlv depopulated. The route fol- 
luved by these people was that overUwd, 
acroBs the plains, which was the most coo* 
gcoisi to their tastes, and the most conven- 
isBt fiir them, as, besides being already so 
tit to the we^twanl, ihey were also provided 
with the necessary wagons and oxen for 
the joaroey. For the sake of mutual pro- 
iectiofl against the Indians, they traveled 
in trains of a dozen or more wagons, carry- 
ing the women and children and provisions, 
iccompanicd by a proportionate nnmber of 
IKQ* some on horses or mules, and others 

lo May 1851, 1 happened to be residing 
to New York, and was seized with the Gal- 
ifiirnia fever. My preparations were very 
•ooD made, and a day or two afterwards I 
foond myself on board a small barque about 
to sail for Chagrres with a load of C%lifornia 
eoigraots. Our vessel was little more 
thfto two hundred tons, and was entirely 
devoted to the accommodation of passen- 
^rs. 1*he ballast was covered with a 
temporary deck, and the whole interior of 
the ship formed a saloon, round which were 
hnilt three tiers of berths ; a very rough 
fxlcmpore table and benches completed the 
furniture. There was no invidious distinc* 
tioQ of cabin and steerage passengers — in 
fact, excepting the captain's room, there 
wu nothing which could be called a cabin 
io the ship. But all were in good snirits, 
um] so mach engrossed with thougnts of 
Ulifomia, that there was little disposition 
to j^rumble at the rough-and-ready style of 
oar accommodation. For my own part, I 
hoew I fihouid have to rough it in Oalifor- 
Dia, and felt that I might just as well begin 
at ooce as wait till I got there. 

We nambered about sixty passengers, 
•od a nice assortment we were. The major- 
itj. of course, were Americans, and were 
from all parts of the Union ; the rest were 
£Q(^lish, French, and German. We had 
npresentatives of neaHy every trade, 
httides farmers, engineers, lawyers, doctors, 
■erchants, and nondescript *' young men." 

The first day out we had fine weather, 
*ith just sea enough to afford the uninitia- 
ted ao opportunity of discovering the differ- 
t&ce between the lee and the weather side 
of the ship. The second day we had a fresh 
^Roe, which towards night blew a gale, 
■d for a couple of days we were compelled 

The greater part of the passengers, being 
^ the interior of the country, had never 
■tta the ocean before, and a gale of wind 

was a thing they did not understand at alL 
Those who were not too sick to be able to 
form an opinion on the sabject, were fright- 
ened out of their senses, and imagiued that 
all manner of dreadful things were going 
to happen to the ship. The first night of 
the gale, I was awoke by an old fool shout- 
ing frantically to the company in general, 
to get up and save the ship, because he 
heard the water rushing into her, and we 
should siuk in a few minutes. He was 
very emphatically cursed for his trouble by 
those whose slumbers he had disturbed, and 
told to hold his tongue, and let those sleep 
who could, if he were unable to do so him- 

It was certainly, however, not very easy 
to sleep that night. The ship was very 
crank, and but few of the party had taken 
the precaution to make fast their luggage ; 
the consequence was, that boxes and -chests 
of ail sizes, besides casks of provisions, and 
other ship's stores, which had got adrltt, 
were cruising about promiscuously, threat- 
ening to smash up the flimsy framework oo 
which our berths were built, and endan- 
gering the limbs of any one who should 
venture to turn out. 

In the morning we found that the cook's 
galley had fetcb^ away, and the stove was 
rendered useless* ; the steward and waiters — 
landlubbers who were only working their 
passage to Chagres — were as sick as the 
sickest, and so the prospect for breakfast 
was by no means encouraging. However, 
there were not more than hall-a dozen of us 
who could eat anything, or could even 
stand on deck ; so we roughed it out on 
oold beef, hard bread, and brandy-and- 

The sea was not very high, and the ship 
lay to comfortably and dry ; but in the 
evening, some of the poor wretches below 
had worked themselves up to desperation, 
being sure, every time the ship laid over, 
that she was never coming up again. At 
last, one man, who could stand it no longer, 
jumped out of his berth, and, going down 
on his knees, commenced clapping his 
hands, and uttering the most dismal howls 
and groaof, interspersed with disjointed 
fragments of prayers. He called On all 
hands to join him ; but it was not a form 
of worship to which many seemed to be 
accustomed, for only two men responded to 
his call. He very kindly consigned all the 
rest of the company to a place which I 
trust none of us may reacn, and prayed 
that for the sake of the three righteous 
men — himself and the other two — the ship 
* might be saved. They continued for about 



«n boar, clapping their bandd as if applaud- 
ing, and crying and groaning most pite- 
ouslj — BO bereft of sense, by fear, that they 
seemed not to know the meaning oi their 
incoherent exclamations. The captain, 
however, at last succeeded in persuading 
them that there was no danger, and they 
gradually cooled down, to the great relief 
of the rest of the passengers. 

The next day we bad oetter weather, but 
the sick-list was 'as large as ever, and we 
had to mes^i again on whatever raw mate- 
rials we coald lay oar hands on — red-her- 
rinirs, onions, ham, and biscnit. 

We deposed the steward as a useless 
vagabond, and appointed three passengers 
to fill his place, after which we fared a lit le 
better — in fact, as well as the provisions at 
oup command would allow. No one 
grambled, excepting a few of the lowest 
class of men in the party, who had very 
likely never been used to such good living 

When we got into the trade-winds we 
had delightful weather, very hot, but with 
a strong breeee at night, rendering it suffi- 
ciently cool to sleep in comfort. The all- 
engrossing subject of conversation, and of 
meditation, was of course California, and 
the heaps of gold we were all to find there. 
As we had secured .our passage only as far 
as Chagres, our progress from that point to 
San Francisco was a matter of constant 
discussion. We all knew that every steamer 
to leave Panama for months to come, was 
already full, and that hundreds of men were 
waiting there to take advantage of any 
opportunity that might occur of reaching 
Sas Francisco ; but among our passengers 
there were very few who were traveling in 
company ; they were mostly all isolated 
individuals, each '* on his own hook," and 
every one was perfectly confident that he 
at least would have no trouble in getting 
along, whatever might be the fate of the 
rest of the crowd. 

We added to the delicacies of our bill of 
fare occasionally by killing dolphins. They 
are very good eating, and afford capital 
sport. They come in small ^|hoals of a 
dosen or so, and amuse themselves by 
playing about before the bows of the ves- 
sel, when, getting down into the martin- 
gale under the bowsprit, one takes the 
opportunity to let drive at them with the 
"grains," a small five-pronged harpoon. 

The dolphin, by toe way, is most out^ 
rageonsly and systematically libeled. In- 
stead of being the horrid, big-headed, 
crooked-backed monster which it is gener- 

ally represented, it is the most elegant and 
highly finished fish that swims. 

For three or four days before reaching 
Chagres, all hands were busy packing up, 
and tiring off and reloading pistols ; for a 
revolver and a bowie-knife were considered 
the first items in a California outfit. We 
soon assumed a warlike apnearance, and 
though many of the partv nad probably 
never handled a ^pistol in their lives before, 
they tried to wear their weapons in a neg- 
lige style, as if they never had been used to 
go without them. 

There were now also great consultations 
as to what sort of hats^ coats, and boots, 
should be worn in crossing the Isthmos. 
Wondrous accounts constantly appeared in 
the New York papers of the dangers and 
difficulties of these few miles of land-and- 
river travel, and most of the passengers, 
before leaving New York, had been hum- 
bugged into buying all manner of absurd 
and useless articles, many of them made of 
india-rubber, which they had been assured, 
and consequently believed, were absolutely 
necessary. But how to carry them all, or 
even how to use them, was the main diffi- 
culty, and would indeed have puzzled much 
cleverer men. 

Some were equipped with pots, pans, 
kettles, drinking cups, knives and lorks, 
spoons, pocket-filters Yfor they had been 
told that the water on tne Isthmus was very 
dirty), india-rubber contrivances, which an 
ingenious man, with a powerful imagina- 
tion and strong lungs, could blow up and 
convert into a bed, a boat, or a tent— 
bottles of "cholera preventive," boxes of 
pills for curing every disease to which 
human nature is liable ; and some men, in 
addition to all this, determined to be pre- 
pared to combat danger in every shape, 
bade defiance to the waters of the Chagres 
river by buckling on india-rubber life-pre- 

Others of the party, who were older 
travelers, and who held all such accoutre- 
ments in utter contempt, had merely a small 
valise with a few necessary articles of 
clothing, an oil-skin coat, and, very prob- 
ably, a pistol stowed away on some part of 
their person, which would be pretty sure to 
go off when occasion required, but not 

At lasti after twenty days' passage from 
New York, we made Chagres, and got up 
to the anchorage towards evening. The 
scenery was very beautiful. We lay about 
three-quarters of a mile from shore, in a 
small bay enclosed hj high blui^, com- 



pletely oovered with dense foliage of every 
ihade of gaen. 

We had bat little time, however, to 
eojoj the sceuery that eveDing, as we had 
scaroelT anchored when the rain' began to 
Come down in true tropical style ; every 
drop was a backetful. The thunder and 
lightniugr were terrific, and in good keeping 
with the rain, which is one of the things 
for which Chagres is celebrated. Its char- 
acter as a sidcly, wrt^tcbed place was so 
well known that none of us went ashore 
that night ; we all preferred sleeping 
aboard ship. 

It was very amusing to watch the 
change which had been coming over some 
of the men on board. They seemed to 
shrink within themselves, and to wish to 
avoid being included in any of the small 
(arties which were being formed to make 
the passage op the river. They were those 
who bad provided themselves with innum- 
erable eoutrivaooes for the protection of 
their prectoDS persons against sun, wind, 
and rain; also with extraordinary assort- 
oents of very untempting-Iookin^ provis- 
iooa, and who were completely equipped 
with pistols, knives, and other warlike 
impkfincnts. They were like so many 
Bobinsoo Cmsoes, ready to be put ashore 
00 a desert island ; and they seemed to 
iaMipne themselves to be in just such a 
predicament, fearful, at the same time, that 
compantonship with any one not provided 
with the same amount of rubbish as them- 
aelves,»might involve their losing the exclu- 
sive benefit of what they supposed so 
absolaibly necessary. I actually heard one 
of them refoM another man a chew of 
tobacco, saying he guessed he had no more 
than what he could use himself. 

The men of this sort, of whom I am hap- 
py to say there were not man^, offered a 
strikiog contrast to the rest m another 
respect. On arriving at Chagres, they 
becameqaite dejected and sulky, and seemed 
to be oppressed with anxiety, while the 
others were in a wild state of delight at 
having finished a tedious passage, and in 
saticipatioo of the novelty and excitement 
of croasuur the Isthmus. 

In the momiog several shore-boats, all 
palled by Americans, came off to take us 
adbo^e The landing here is rather dan- 
feroee. lliere is generally a very heavy 
•wcU* eaosing vessels to roll so much that 
g^uiog into a small boat alongside is a 
SHttter of considerable difficulty ; and at 
the Boath of the river is a bar, on which 

are immense rollers, requiring good man- 
agement to get over them in safety. 

We went ashore in torrents of rain, and 
when landed with our baggage on the 
muddy bank of the Chagres river, all as 
wet as if we had swam ashore, we were 
immediately beset by crowds of boatmen, 
Americans, natives, and Jamaica niggers, 
all endeavoring to make a bargain with oa 
for the passage up the river to Cruces. 

The town of Chagres is built on each 
side of the river, and consists of a few mis- 
erable cane-and-mud huts, with one or two 
eaually wretched-looking wooden houses, 
which were hotels kept by Americans. On 
the top of the bluff, on the south side of 
the river, are the ruins of an old Spanish 
cdstle, which look very picturesque, almost 
concealed by the luxurious growth of trees 
and creepers around them. 

The natives seemed to be a miserable set 
of people, and the few Americans in the 
town were most sickly, washed-out-looking 
objects, with the appearance of having 
steeped for a length of time in water. 

After breakfasting on ham and beans at 
one of the hotels, we selected a boat to con* 
vey us up the river ; and as the owner had 
no crew engaged, we got him to take two 
sailors who had run away from our vessel, 
and were bound for California like the rest 
of us. 

There was a great variety of boats em- 
ployed on the river — whale-boats, ships' 
boats, 8ki£&, and canoes of all sizes, some 
of them capable of carrying fifteen or 
twenty people. It was still raining heavily 
when we started, but shortly atterwardls 
the weather cleared up, and we felt in better 
humor to enjoy the magnificent scenery^ 
The river was from seventy-five to a 
hundred yards wide, and the banks were 
completely hidden by the dense ma§s of 
vegetation overhanging the water. Taere 
was a vast variety of dutiful foliage, and 
many of the trees were draped in creepers, 
covered with large flowers of most brilliant 
colours. One of our party, who was a 
Scotch gardener, was in ecstacies at sued a 
splendid natural flower-show, and gave us 
long Latin names for alt the diflferent speci- 
mens. The rest of my fellow-passengers 
were a big fat mrin from Buffalo, two young 
Southerners from South Carolina, three 
New-Yorkers, and a Swede. The boat 
was rather heavily laden, but for some 
hours we got along very well, as there was 
but little current. Towards the afternoon, 
however, our two sailors,* who had been 
palling all the time, b^gan to flag, and at 



last said they coold go no farther withoat 
a rest. We were stiU maay miles from the 
place where we were to pass the ni^ht, and 
as the banks of the river presented sach a 
formidable barricade of jungle as to prevent 
a landing, we had the prospect of passing 
the night in the boat, unless we made the 
most of our time ; so the gardener and I 
Yohmteered to take a spell at the oars. 
But as we ascended the river the current 
became much stronger, and darkness over- 
took us some distance from our intended 

It became so very dark that we could 
not see six feet ahead of us, and were con- 
stantly bumping against other boats coming 
ap the river. There were also many boats 
coming down with the current tit such a 
rate, that if one had hapj)ened to run into 
ns, we should have had but a poor chance, 
and we were obliged to keep shouting all 
the time to let our whereabouts be known. 

We were several times nearly capsized 
on snags, and as we realty could not see 
whether we were making any way or not, 
we came to the determination of making 
fast to a tree till the moon should rise. It 
was now raining again as heavily as ever, 
and having fully expected to make the 
station that eveoing, we had taken no pro- 
visions with us. We were all very wet, 
very hungry, and more or less iDclined to 
be in a bad humor. Consequently, the 
question of stopping or going ahead was 
not determined withoat a great deal of 
wrangling and discussion. However, our 
two sailors declared they would not pull 
another stroke — the gardener and myself 
were in ikvor of stopping — ^and as none of 
the rest of oar number were at ail inclined 
to exert themselves, the question was thus 
settled for them, although they continued 
to discuss it for their own satisfaction for 
some time afterwards. 

It was about eight o'clock, when, catch- 
ing hold of a boagh of a tree twelve or fif- 
teen feet from the shore, we made fast. We 
could not attempt to laud, as the shore was 
so guarded by bushes and sunken branches 
as to render the nearer appsoach ot the 
boat impossible. , 

So here we were, thirteen of us, with a 
proportionate pile of baggage, cramped up 
in a small boat, in which we had spent the 
day, and were now doomed to pass the 
night, our miseries aggravated by torrents 
of rain, nothing to eat, and, worse than 
that, nothing to drink, but, worse than all, 
without even a dry match wherewith to 
light a pipe. If ever it is excusable to 

chew tobacco, it snrely is on snch an occa- 
sion as this. I had worked a good deal at 
the oar, and from the frequent alternations 
we had exi)erieuced of scorching heat and 
drenching rain, I fctt as if I could enjoy a 
nap, notwithstanding the disagreeableiiess 
of our posi'ion ; but. fearing the conse- 
quences of sleeping u<ider such circum- 
stances in that climate, I kept myself awake 
the best way I could. 

We managed to get through the night 
somehow, and about three o'clock in the 
morning, as the moon began to give soffi- 
cient light to let n3 see where we were, we 
got under weigh again, and after a coaple 
of hours' hard pulling, we arrived at the 
place we had expected to reach the even- 
ing before. 

It was a very beautiful little spot — a 
small natural clearing on the top of a high 
bank, on which were one or two native 
hut:«, and a canvass establishment which 
had been set up by a Yankee, and was 
called a " Hotel." We went to this hotel, 
and found some twenty or thirty ftill«»w- 
travelers, who had there enjoyed a night's 
rest, and were now just setting down to 
breakfast at a long, rough tabic, which 
occupied the greater part of the house. 
The Kitchen consisted of a cooking-stove in 
one corner, and opp sitH to it was the bar, 
which was aap!)lied with a few bottk-s of 
bad brandy, while a number of cauvii^s 
shelves, ranged all round, constituted the 

We made up for the loss of our supper 
by eating a hearty breakfast of haml, beans 
and eggs, and started again in company 
with our more fortunate fellow-travelers. 
The weather was once more bright and 
clear, and confined as we were between the 
densely wooded and steaming banks of the 
river, we found the heat most oppressive. 

We saw numbers of parrots of brilliant 
plumage, and a great many monkeys and 
alligators, at which there was a constant 
discbarge of pistols and rifles, our passage 
being further enlivened by an occasional 
race with some of the o'her boats. 

The river still continued to become more 
rapid, and our progress was consequently 
very slow. The two sailors were quite 
unable to work all day at the oars : the 
owner of the boat was a useless encum- 
brance ; he could not even steer : so the 
gardener and myself were obliged occasion- 
ally to exert ourselves. The fact is, the 
boat was overloaded ; two men were not a 
sufficient crew ; and if we had not worked 
ourselves, we should never have got to 



Cnicca. I wanted tbe other passengers to 
do tbetr share of work for the common 
rv)d, but some protests) they did not know 
Ihiw to pall, others pleaded bad health, and 
the rest very coolly said, that having paid 
their money to be taken to Cruces, they 
expected to be taken there, and would not 
pill a stroke ; they did not care how long 
13*7 might be on the river. 

It was evid*.'nt that we had made a bad 
bargain, aod if these other fellows wonld 
not lend a hand, it was onlv the more ne- 
cessary that some one else snonld. It was 
rather provoking to see them sitting dog- 
redly under thetr umbrellas, bat we could 
lot well pitch them overboard, or put them 
■ihore, aod I comforted myself with the 
idea that their turn woold certainly come, 
D4>twithBtanding their obstinacy. 

After a trdioas day, during which we 
had, ss before, deluges of rain, with inter- 
vals of scorch ingS'iuahiue. we arrived aboot 
lix o'clock at a native settlement, where 
we wens to spend the night. 

It was a small clearing, with merely two 
or thn^e huts, inhabited by eight or ten 
miserable-looking natives, mostly women. 
Toeir lazv, li-«tl«ss way of doing things did 
IKK suit the humor we were in at all. The 
invariable reply to all demands for some- 
th ng to eat and drink was poco tiempo (by- 
smMyy), said in that sort of tone one would 
a<« to a troublesome child. They knew 
very well we were at their mercy — we 
could not go anywhere else for our supper 
—and they took it easy accordingly. We 
mooeeded at last m getting supper in 
i.fettalhii<'ntii — ^now a mouthful of ham, now 
an erg or a few beans, and thf n a cup of 
coHtfe, just as they could make up their 
minds to the violent exertion of getting 
thne articles ready for us. 

Aboot haif-a dozen other boaMoads of 
passengers were also stopping here, some 
Sriy or sixty of us altogether, and three 
•nail shanties were the only shelter to be 
had. The native p'>pulatiim crowded into 
one of them, and, in consideration of sundry 
diillars, allowed us th« exclusive enjoyment 
eC the other two. They were mere shedd 
alioat fifteen feet square, open all round ; 
but as the rain was again pouring down, 
we thought of the night before, and were 
thankful for small mercies. 

I secured a location with three or four 
others in tbe upper story ot one of these 
pUees — a sort of loft made of bamboos 
about eight f^t from the ground, to which 
we climbed by means of a pole with notch^ 
eat 10 it. 

The next day we found the river more 
rapid than ever. Oars were now useless — 
we had to pole tbe boat op the stream ; 
and at last the patience of the rest of the 
party was exhausted, and they reluctantly 
took their torn at the work. We hardly 
made twelve miles, and halted in the even- 
ing at a place called Dos Hermanos, where 
were two native houses. 

Here we found already about fifty fellow- 
travelers, and several parties arrived after 
us. On the native landlord we were all 
dependent for supper ; but we, at leasts 
were a little too late, as there was nothing 
to be had but boiled rice and coffoe^not 
even beans. There were a few live chickens 
about, which we would soon have disposed 
of, but cooking wes out of the question. It 
was raining furiously, and there were sixty 
or seventy of us, all huddled into two small 
places of fifteen feet square, together with 
a number of natives and Jamaica negroes, 
the crews of some of the boats. Several of 
the psssengers were in ditferent stages of 
drunkenness, generally developing itself in 
a desire to fight, and more particularly to 
pitch into the natives and niggers. There 
seemed a prospect of a general set-to 
between black and white, which would have 
been a bloody one, as all the passengers 
had either a revolver or a bowie-knitb--^ 
most of them had both — and the natives 
were provided with their machetes — ha'lf 
knife, half cutlass — which they always 
carry, and know how to use. Many of the 
Americans, however, were of the better 
class, and used their influence to quiet the 
unruly of their countrymen. One man 
made a most touching appeal to their 
honor not to " kick up a mus.^," as there 
was a lady " of their own color " in the 
next room, who was in a state of great agi- 
tation. The two rooms opened into each 
other, aod were so fall of men that one 
could hardly turn round, and the lady of 
oar own color was of course a myth. How- 
ever^ the more violent of the crowd quieted 
down a little, and afikirs looked more 

We passed a most miserable night. We 
lay down as best we could, and were packed 
like sardines in a box. All wanted to 
sleep; but if one man moved, he woke 
half-a-dozen others, who again in waking 
roused all the rest ; so sh^ep was, like our 
sapper, only to be enjoyed in imagination, 
and all we could do was to wait intently 
for daylight. As soon as we could see, we 
all left the wretched phioe, none of us much 
improved in temper, or in general condi- 



lion. It was still raining, and we had|the 
pleasure of koowing that we sboold not get 
any breakfast for two or three hoars. 

We h^d another severe day on the river 
— ^hot san, heavy rain, and hard work ; and 
in the afternoon we arrived at Qorgona, a 
small village, where a great many passen- 
gers leave the river and take the road to 

Cruces is about seven miles farther np 
the river, and from there the road to Pan-' 
ama is eaid to be much better, especially 
in wet weather, when the Gorgona road is 
almost impass^able. 

The village of Gorgona consisted of a 
number of native shanties, built in the 
usual style, of thin canes, between any two 
of which you might put your finger, and 
fastened together, in basket fashion, with 
the long woody tendrils with which the 
woods abound . The roof is of palm leaves, 
slanting up to a great height, so as to shed 
the heavy rains. Some of these houses 
have only three sides, others have only two, 
while some have none at all, being open all 
round ; and in all of them might be seen 
one or more natives swinging in a ham- 
mock, calmly and patiently waiting for 
time to roll on, or, it may be, deriving 
intense enjoyment from the mere conscious- 
ness of existence. 

There was a large canvass house, on 
which was painted '' Gorgona Hotel." It 
was kept by an American, the most un- 
wholesome-looking individual I had yet 
seen ; he was the very personification of 
fever. We had here a very luxurious dinner, 
having plantains and eggs in addition to 
the usuiil fare of ham and beans. The upper 
story of the hotel was a large loft, so low 
in the roof that one could not stand straight 
np in it. In this there were sixty or sev- 
enty beds, so clo»e together that there was 
just room to pass between them ; and as 
those at one end became tenanted, the pas- 
sages leading to them were filled up with 
more beds, in such a manner that, wnen all 
were put up, not an inch of the floor could 
be seen. 

After our fatigues on the river, and the 
miserable way in which we had passed the 
night before, snch sleeping aocommodation 
as this appeared very mviting ; and imme- 
diately after dinner I appropriated one of 
the beds, and slept even on till daylight. 
We met here several men who were return- 
ing from Panama, on their way home 
again. They had been waiting there for 
some months for a steamer, by which thev 
had tickets for San Francisco, and which 

was coming round the Horn. She was 
lon^ overdue, however, and having lost 
patience, they were going home, in the vain 
nope of getting damages out of the owner 
of the steamer. If they had been very 
anxious to go to California, they might have 
sold their tickets, and taken the opportu- 
nity of a sailing-vessel from Panama ; but 
from the way in which they spoke of their 
grievances, it was evident that they were 
home-sick, and glad of any excuse to tarn 
tail and go back again. 

We had frequently,, on our way uo the 
river, seen diflRirent parties of our fellow- 
passenirers. At Gorgona we mustered 
strong ; and we found that, notwithstand- 
ing the disadvantage we had been under of 
having an overloaded boat, we had made as 
good time as any of them. 

A great many here took the road to 
Panama, but we determined to go on by 
the river to Gmces, for the sake of the 
better road from that place. All our diffi- 
culties hitherto were nothing to what we 
encountered in these last few miles. It was 
one continued rapid all the way, and in 
many places some of us were obliged to get 
out and tow the boat while the rest used 
the poles. 

We were all heartily disgusted with the 
river, and were satisfied, when we arrived 
at Gruces, that we had got over the worst 
of the Isthmus ; for however bad the road 
might be, it could not be harder traveling 
than we had already experienced. 

Gruces was just such a village as Gorgo- 
na, with a similar canvass hotel, kept by 
equally cadaverous-looking Americans. 

In establishing their hotels at different 
points on the Chagres river, the Americans 
encountered great opposition from the 
natives, who wished to reap all the benefit 
of the travel themselves ; but they were too 
many centuries behind the age to have any 
chance in fair competition ; and so they 
resorted to personal threats and violence, 
till the persuasive eloquence of Goli's 
revolvers, and the overwhelming numbers 
of AmiRrican travelers, convinced them that 
they were wrong, and that they bad better 
submit to their fate. 

One branch of business which the natives 
had all to themselves was mule-driving, and 
carrying baggage over the road frum 
Gruces to Panama, and at this they had no 
competition to fear from any one. The 
luggage was either packed on mules, or 
carrit^ on men's backs, being lashed into a 
sort of wicker-work contrivance, somewhat 
similar to those vsed by French pcrten^ 



•ad 80 adjusted with strapf that ^e weight 
b<ire directly down on th* shonlders. It 
WIS aation\fh\fif^ to see what loads these 
aien coald carry over such a rood ; an<)Nlt^ 
reftliy eeemed inconsistent with their indb- 
lent character, that they should perform, so 
actively, snch prodigioas feats of labor. 
Two hondrad and fifty poands weight was 
ao average Wkd for a man to walk off with, 
doingr the twenty-five miles to Panama in a 
day and a half, and some men carried as 
mach as three hundred pounds. Tbey were 
wirli made, and muscular though not large 
nen, and were apparently more of the 
Keyrro than the Indian. 

Tee journey to Panama was generally 
perfbnned on mules, but frequently on foot ; 
and as the rest of the party intended to 
walk, I di^termined also to forego the luxury 
of a mule ; so, having engaged men to 
earry oar baggage, we set out about two 
o*cl«)ck in the afternoon. 

The weather was fine, and for a short 
di»tanoe oat of Oruces the road was easy 
eooQgh, and we were beginning to think 
we sbontd have a pleasant journey ; but we 
were very soon undeceived, for it com- 
menced to rain in the usual style, and the 
road became most dreadful. It was a cim- 
tinoal cHmb over the rocky bed^ of precip- 
itous gpsliiesy the gully itself perhaps ten or 
twelve feet deep, and the dense wood on 
each fide meeting overhead, so that no 
fmh air relieved one in toiling along. We 
mnJd generally sec rocks sticking up out of 
the water, on which to put our feet, but we 
w«re occasionally, for a considerable dis- 
tance, up to the knees in water and mud. 

The f tpep banks on each side of us were 
m done together, that in many places two 
packed mules coold not pass each other ; 
sometimes, indeed, even a single mule got 
^innieJ by tlie trunk projecting on either 
side of him. It was a most fatiguing walk. 
When it did not rain, the heat was suffo- 
cating ; and when it rained, it poured. 

Tlwre was a place called the ** Half-way- 
HoQ-e," to which we looked forward anx- 
ioQsly as the end of our day's journey ; and 
as it was kept by an Anigrican, we expected 
to Hod it a comparatively comfortable 
But our disappointment was great, 
aboat dark, we arrived at this half- 
way boose, and found it to be a miserable 
Lit'Ie tcDt, not much more than twelve feet 

On enteriDg we found some eight or ten 
traTelen in the same plight as ourselves, 
dred, bongry, wet throogh, and with aching 
fimbk Tut only famitmre in the tent con- 

sisted of a rough table three feet long, and 
three cots. The ground was all wet and 
sloppy, and the rain kept dropping through 
the canvass overhead. There were only 
two plates, and two knives and forks in the 
establishment, so we had to pitch into the 
salt pork and beans two at a time, while 
the rest of the crowd stood round and 
looked at us ; for the cots were the only 
seats in fhe place, and tbey were so rickety 
that not more than two men coald sit on 
them at a time. 

More travelers continued to arrive ; and 
as the prospect of a night in such a place 
was so exceedingly dismal, I persuaded our 
party to return about half a mile to a native 
but which we had passed on the road, to 
take our chance of what accommodation 
we could g«t there. We soon^ arranged 
with the woman, who seemed to be the 
only inhabitant of the house, to allow us to 
sleep in it ; and as we were all thoroughly 
soaked, every sort of water-proof coat hav- 
ing proved equally useless after the few 
days severe trial we had given them, we 
looked out anxiously for any of the natives 
coming along with our trunks. 

In the meantime I borrowed a towel from 
the old woman of the shanty ; and as it 
was now fair, I went into the bush, and got 
one of oor two sailors, who had stuck by 
us, to rub me down as hard as he could. 
This entirely removed all pain and stiffness ; 
and though I had to put on my wet clothes 
again, I felt completely refreshed. 

Not long afterwards a native made his 
appearance, carrying the trunk of one of 
the party, who very generously supplied us 
all from it with dry clothes, when we betook 
ourselves to our couches. Tbey were not 
luxurious, being a number of dried hides 
laid on the floor, as hard as so many sheets 
of iron, and full of bumps and hollows ; but 
they were dry, which was all we cared 
about, for we thought of the poor devils 
sleeping in the mud in the half-way house. 

l*he next morning, as we proceeded on 
our journey, the road gradually improved 
as the country became more open. We 
were much refreshed by a light breeze off 
the sea, which we found a very agreeable 
change from the damp and sufi>>cating heat 
of the forest ; and about mid-day, after a 
pleasant forenoon's walk, we strolled into 
the city of Panama. [Continued.] 

Over six hundred millions of dollars have 
been shipped from the port of San Frao- 
cisco, within eight yean 1 




BY W. H.I). 

At the natal dawn of creation's morn, 

I 'rose in the pride of my charms, 
And an iiifknt world in its orbit hurled, 

Received the embrace of my arms : 
To the God of Dav I gave the pure ray, 

Oft seen on the face of the storm, 
Where the rain-drops diifase, thefr primal 

In the rainbow's expanded form. 

The silvery light of the Queen of Night, 

Is reflected from my bright eye. 
As I watched with care a bein? so fair 

On her lonely course through the sky : 
Through unbounded space, with a matchless 

I night's t tarry banner jinfurled ; 
To the end of time, its glories sublime. 

Shall surround an a£niring world. 

On the mountain high enthroned near the sky. 

In an atmosphere pure and rare, 
Where the sun-shine glows on eternal snows, 

Dwells my spirit forever there : 
In the gorgeous dyes of the sun-set skies, , ■ 

Is portrayed my exquisite skill ; 
For the placid lake, a copy I make, 

To glow in its bosom so still. 

My smile may be seen in each landscape 

With which Nature enrobes the earth, 
And each sparkling gem in the diadem. 

Is by me endowed with its worth : 
In fields I preside where the flowers abide 

And their delicat« forms I designed ; 
With the verdure's green, to gladden the 

In their splendid array combined. 

From founts on the hill where the crystal rill. 

Gushes forth to refresh the plain ; 
My steps may be traced to the watery waste, 

Whence their springs are supplied again : 
Beneath ocean's waves in unfathomed caves, 

I painted and polished each shell, 
And in coral groves where the dolphin roves, 

I in loveliness long shall dwell. 

Lov-e's holy desire I ever inspire. 

In the depths of each mortal heart, 
When 'tis truly felt then the soul will melt, 

With the raptures I there impart : 
An essence refined I pervade the mind. 

Of those gifted beings of earth ; 
Whose genius and art alone can impart 

Perfection to what I give birth. 

In Eden so fair when that happy pair. 
Midst its loveliest scenes first trod. 

My most sacred shrine was their natnres 
In the gloriooB image of God : 

When at life's sad close mortal forms repose, 

In death's stecn and icy embrace. 
In sorrow I grieve, as I'm forced to leave. 

What I once delighted to grace. 

Let virtue control the immortal soul. 

And my holiest triumph I claim, 
Though worlds pass away^this shall not decay. 

Through eternity ever the saac : 
All praise I resign to a God Dlifne, 

And to Him let gratitude flow ; 
His mind is the source whence I take my 

Through the universe ever to glow. 


"What if the little rain should say, 
So small a drop as t. 
Can ne'er refresh the thirsty pU^na ; 
m tarry in the sky »" 

How many there are who excuae tbem- 
selves from doing little deeds of charity 
and kindness, because they cannot do 
great ones : not content to add orie small 
drop to the many millions which go to 
make np the large and life-giviug shower ; 
they withhold the mite of their means from 
the suffering child of humanity : when, to 
whom, one generous crumb of bread, or 
word of kindness, would be as reviving as 
a drop of rain upon the withering and 
perishing flower. What a pity that the 
one great duty and purpose of life, compre. 
hended in the golden rule given by Him 
" who spoke as never man spake", that " as 
ye would that men should do unto you, do 
ye even so unto them " should be, alas ! so 
often forgotten ? 

Man's truest happiness consists in little 
acts of diffusive benevolence : Let us then 
learn lessons from the smallest rain-dropSy 
which are called forth from the vapory 
cloud by the electric touch of the light-^ 
ning; and — as tears of pity — drop front 
thence without stopping to consider for a 
moment whither they may fall — on the 
delicate petals of a cherished flower, or 
upon some noxious or poisonous plant ; 
whether on the highly cultivated fields, or 
the broad briny bosom of the ocean ; so le^ 
the electric spark of sympathy touch oui- 
hearts, and call forth daily acts of love and 
kindness to the needy of mankind ; that hy 



fittle deeds of charity we may asBist to 
oiake ap the great sam of haman happiness, 
efeo as the raia drops makes the shower i|p| 
that without being " too particnlar." 

It 18 often from the dark gloomy forest, 
and the (Ie'»>late rock, that purling 
Areana iisvs forth; and, when joined 
by others swell into large riyers, which 
nemader on their way, beantilying and 
fertilising the whole country through 
which they flow. Bat those streams are 
■ade ap of single drops. Learn then by 
Angle acts to accomplish a great and noble 
purpose — that of blessing every one within 
the reach of the small and revivifying rain- 
drops of your individual sympathy, and Qod 
sod man shall bless you. Luna. 



" DsAR PAanrrs : — For the first time in 
my life, I have left home without your 
blesing, and the painful necessity has 
caansd oie unspeakable sorrow. May that 
Toung creature, who has driven me from my 
iKMoe, fill my place in your hearts ; may she 
be happy with the name of McClure, and 
v'th the riches she has bought at the price 
of the happiness of Adaline and mysell. • At 
preaent I am spending some time at Jack- 
too, and expect to remain here fbr some 
thae. Write me soon, and tell Uncle to 
re i tm bcr me to Adaline ; and mention to 
xoe in joat letter, if she is superficially 
irrxrved at the loss of all her fond hopes. 
Tel] her that I remain the same, though 
separated from her. Much love to yon lul. 


TVy had scarcely finished reading this 
letter, when Kate opened the parlor door, 
with an open letter In her hand ; pale as 
death she moved to the side of her mother, 
aod, handing the letter i%her said — ** Oh, 
I aJB innooent ! " and fidling back in a chair 
a^bed alood as if her heart would 

Give me the letter wife,'' said the Ool., 
taking it, he read it to his wife and 

Man. Katk McGlubs. Madam : — ^Aa 
lawfU wife, I am under the painfol 
wmtj of addressing you. I have dq>OB- 
three thousand dwlan in the GharlestOD 
phaae draw enough to appear as 

becomes the honor of the house you have 
adopted, at the e^nse of my happiness. I 
do not know when I shall be home. Adieu. 


" Do not grieve so my dear Kate," said 
her mother, throwing her arms around 
Kate's neck, and kissing her burning (ore- 

" Oh mother," sobbed Kate, " I have 
ruined his happiness, I have driven him 
from his home. Oh that I had never ro* 
deemed that handkerchief ; I little dreamed 
of theprice." 

"Were you acquainted with Allen, 
Kate?" asked uncle William. 

'' Oh no, I never saw him before that 
unfortunate evening. Oh my dear friends, 
allow me to go to California to my friends 
there, and let your son get a divorce and 
marry Adaline. I am willing to go, I know 
my mother wi)l receive her unfortunate 
Kate." . 

'* Dry your tears Kate, and hope for the 
best, and if Charles is willing you shall go, 
you may do so ; but you must do nothing 
without consulting him. It is your duty 
as his wife," said the OoL '* Will you 

Promise me Kate, that you will treat 
Jharles with the same eentle respect that 
you wouki under move favorable circum- 
stances 7" 

" I will do anything that is my duty, dear 
Ihther, only tell me when I am wrong. Oh, 
that I could redeem the unintentional 
wrong," said Kate, with much feeling. 

** It is now time my dear for you to 
dress, for you know we expect company ; 
try and look as cheerAil as possible that 
there may be no room for gossip," said 
Uncle William ; '* and," he added '< you 
must do the honors of the party as Charles' 

"Must I, mother?" 

'* Tes, dear, for I am quite incompetent 
this evening." 

The company soon began to gather in 
the superb drawing room of the old man- 
sion. Milford and his bride were among 
the first that Kate received. With Uncle 
William at her side, to introduce her to any 
of the companv that she was not acquainted 
with, she did ample honor to her sta- 
tion. Milford was much struck with 
the beauty, delicacy and easy ai&bility of 

" Can this be the girl that has driven 
Charles away from home? He is fonder of 
mnninff from beauty than I am," thought 
Milford, as he gaaied on her sweet, menn- 
choly ihce ; " how beautifully she is dressed. 
What spkndki taste." 


Milford was aroused from these thoughts 
by a young gentleman iittliog his hand on 
his arm and exdaimiog — ** what a beautiful 
Toung creature ! I wish that I had helped 
her redeem the haodkerchief." 

" She certainly is a splendid woman, 
Bently," said Milford, '* and I think there 
are few that are better bred, and as she has 
a good voice, let us ask her to play and 
Slug us some of her sweet airs ;" and moving 
towards the piano, they solicited a song 
from Kate. All were charmed with her 
sweet voice* 

"Why," said Bently, "Jenny Lind is 
thrown in the shade by this charming little 
paragon. She is the mobt lovely creature 
I ever saw," 

" You are profuse in your admiration of 
a married woman, Bently," replied Milford, 
for it was no common interest that he felt 
It was evident Bently was smitten by the 
uofortuoate Kate. 

" Profuse, did you say, Milford ? It is 
more than that. In one short hour she has 
created a sensation in my heart that it 
never felt before. I only hope my feelings 
are reciprocated — she should not long re- 
main a neglected wife. I know all about 
this marriage ; Adaline Gray told me all 
the particulars, and that Charles had told 

" Yoa supriae me Bentlv ; was AdaKne 
so mean as to divulge what Charles had 
told her in confidence ?" asked Milford. 

"Yes," replifed Bentljr, "and I shall 
thank her for the intelligence, as it gives 
me hope of possessing that lovely being 

" For God's sake hold, Bently I Your 
conversation distresses me ezc^ingly," 
replied Milford with evident concern ; " I 
think your feelings towards Kate eiceed- 
ingly unfortunate, and I fear may lead to 
tomethiug serious ; if you have the feelings 
of a man, Bently, do not add anything more 
to the bitter cup Kate has already drank 
so deeply of." 

Their conversation was interrupted by 
the appearance of Mrs. Milford— "It is 
getting late dear, we had better go home." 

"Well I am ready, get your things" 

Mrs. Milford being tetAy to leave, kissed 
Kate affectionately and invited her to call 
often, as their husbands were particular 
friends. Soon the drawing room was empty, 
•nd Kate retired to rest, fatigued and wea- 
iT. She arose after a relrahing sleep ; 
tbe dawn of day was brightening in toe 
east; hastily dressing, she descended the 
^ttairsi <^peMd the gwden gate, and was 

enjoying the sweet morning air, when look- 
ing ^Pi she satf Bently riding close to the 
fence. Handing her a letter, he told her 
Jm would call in the afternoon for an an- 
swer, and turning, rode hastily away. Kate 
looked at the letter; there was no post 
mark on it ; " What does it mean ?" and 
breaking the seal while sh^«eated herself 
on a bench in the arbor, she read the fol- 
lowing : 

" My Dbab Kate : — ^Excuse me for ad- 
dressing you thus familiarly ; bat I cannot 
endure the thought of your name as Mc 
Clure. Dear one, you have inspired me 
with emotions that 1 wus a strangrer to 
before I saw you last night. May I hope 
that you regard me with feelings similar to 
my own for you ? My heart, my fortune, is 
all your own, dear one. I know all aboat 
your marriage with McClure; it is not 
binding; apply to the L^islature for a 
divorce ; I am a member of that body and 
vou shall be free, to bless and make me the 
happiest of men; beloved Kate, it is in 
your power to crush or bless me, will you 
be mine ? Ardently yours, 

M. 0. Bkntlt." 

Kate was indignant at his presumption ; 
she felt insulted, and returning to her room 
she neuned the following : 

" Mr. Bently. Sir : — I am hurt at the 
libertv you have taken in addressing me; 
your knowledge of my marriage does not 
affect my obligation to my husband ; what- 
ever may be our position toward each 
other, it can not matter to those, who, like 
you, have only a partial acquaintance with 
us. As for reciprocating your feelings, as 
expressed in your note, I find nothing ol 
the kind in my bosom, and I hope this notfl 
will be a sufficient rebuff to prevent an| 
further correspondence of this nature ; an] 
as I shall send this note to you immediately 
you. will oblige me if you will defer calliuj 
this afternoon. Kate McClube." 

Bently had just finished his dinner whq 
the note was handed to him. After read 
ing it, Bently, more in love than eve 
determined to call on Adaline and learn a 
she knew abouM^ate ; determined to p 
ecute his suit at all hazards. With t 
determination, he sousfht the house of 1^ 
Gray. He was ioon shown up to Adaline 
room. ' 

" How do you do, Mr. Bently? I decUq 
I was dying to see you. Did you bavo 
pleasant time at the Col's?" 
" Yes, magnificent." ' 

*" Were there many there ?" ' 

** Yes." J 



* i lo^ did yoa like the looks of the yoonflr 
Mn, McClurer* 

** I am dead in love with her, she is the 
nost lorely woman I ever saw, and I have 
c)!De here on purpose to learn more about 

- Wdl, I shonld think yon knew enough 
BOW. She never can gain the love of 
Coarles, he dislikes her so much ; depend 
ap'>Q it Bently, you can have my co-opera- 
i.t>a 10 anything." 

"* I will marry her then, she is the height 
•>f my ambition. If she would only get a 
<i><>rce, yoa and Charles could then marry 
iod be luippy.'* 

" I oewr can be happy until that girl is 
ii-'imcad," said Adalioe, ** and I am deter- 
fflioetJ to use all my influence to iniure her." 

** I will see you again Adaline, I see yon 
aoderstand me." 

Taking leave, he sauntered to the hotel. 
Idaline's vanity was tried sorely, for she 
kad been thinking of Bently since she was 
dtmppototed in Charles. But Bently, 
ivxeii of being charmed with her, had 
£Ai!en in love with the unfortunate Kate ; 
«^ that BOW she was as much provoked at 
Beotiy as at Kate; he could not have 
vfirred her a greater insult than to have 
tiiked about Kats's beauty and her supe- 

*' \j Dderstand him !" said Adaline, ** yes 
Writer than he understands himself; fool he is ; bat he thinks that I will help 
1.31 to get her away from Charles ; yes, 1 
vU help him, into trouble ; the first thing 
^ know8» be will be in love with me, and 
*-jen I will be avenged ; they will both see 
av triamph over them ; yes, 1 can see my 
VAT clear now." And with these encour- 
V og thoaghta of herself, Adaline deter- 
^ra^ to act, as well as think. And now 
«e leavB her laying her plans, while we 
uk-' a look at Kate. 

\Iier writing the note to Bently, Kate 
ie*ermined to give him no further oppor- 
Usitj of again seeing her unless it was in 
ruBpaoT, where it would be unavoidable, 
^'^ie these thoughts ran through her mind, 
-de was suddenly aroused by a tap at hor 
^«nr. she opened it, and there stood Dinah 
— ' Miss Kate, Massa William wants you." 

* Where is be T" 

' 1a his room, sick, his horse ran away 
vito him and he is hurt ; the Dr. says that 
'^ wilt die before night !" 

- 4iod forbid !', said Kate weeping, " III 
r» .moKcliately," as she sped to the door 
y Lia room. She found it true. There 
^M ha fifcther and mother weeping, and 

h er uncle lying on the bed, pale, and breath- 
ing very short ; looking around, he asked — 
« Is Kate here ?" 

" Yes, uncle," replied Kate weepinff. and 
stooping down over his head« she kissed 
his pale forehead. 

"What can 1 do for you dear uncle ?" 

'* One thing dear Kate ; I will soon be 
dead, and you will lose one friend ; but my 
dear, poor child, give me one promise before 
I die.^ 

" What is it dear uncle, only say what it 
is, and 1 grant it." 

" Then promise that you will never leave 
Charles, however ill he may treat you ; the 
honor of our house I leave with you, and," 
added he, " in yonder drawer in my desk, 
you will find my will, and a letter to 
Charles," and falling back on his pillow, he 

Deep indeed was the gloom that hung 
Qver the McClure Mansion. Kate was 
now doubly afflicted ; his cheerful voice 
she should no more liear. The afflicted 
family soon bore his remains to their long 
resting place, and Kate returned home to 

** Oh this is selfish, I will weep no more, 
but go and comfort father and mother ;" 
and going to them; she found them ab- 
sorbS in deep grief. 

" Dear parents," said Kate, " why do yoa 
grieve thus for uncle ? we know that he is 
happy, and his pure spirit will hover near 
us." Overcome with sorrow, Kate put her 
arms around her father's neck, and then 
slipping down upon her knees, she poured 
forth her pure desires in the ear of God who 
alone could help. She prayed for Charles, 
for her sorrowful parents, and that Gk)d 
wonld guide her in his own ways. They all 
felt comforted. 

" Write to Charles my child," said her 
father, " tell him that his fitithful uncle is 
no more." 

'* I will go and write to him immediate- 
ly." « Oh," thought Kate, " if I were a 
favored wife, it would not be sodifilcnlt for 
me to address him ; I must be cold and 
brief, lest I disgust him ; Oh that he loved 
me I" and seating herself bv her writing- 
desk she penned the following lines : 

" Dear Charles : — I am very sorry ever 
to transmit unpleasant news. Your dear 
uncle hds just been consigned to his g^ve, 
and we ars left to mourn the loss of one 
who Was dearly loved. Your father and 
mother are deeply afflicted, and father 
desired me to say to you, that he thought 
yon wonid not refuse to retnm home for a 



short time. Father and mother are both 
iDdisposed ; mother is indeed quite ill. 
Father will write you as soon as he is able. 
Yoars in haste. Katk." 

After penning this brief letter to Charles, 
Kate retamed to her mother's sick room. 

'*I have written to Charles, dear 
mother/' said Kate, while a blush stole 
OTer her pale cheek. 

** Hare yon dear? I hope he will soon 
come home, for I fear that I shall never get 
any better in this world." 

*' Oh, say not so my dear mother ; God 
forbid that you should be taken away from 
OS in this trying hour." 

« Gome near my daughter and hear me, I 
feel assured that uod has heard my prayer 
in your behalf : you will yet be happy as 
the wife of my son ; I feel strong m this 
hope, I feel that you almost love Charles ; 
tell me my dear, what are your feelings 
towards him? conceal nothing my love." 

'* Dear mother, if I know my own heart, 
there is no one that I love more than your 
unfortunate son ; and I am willing to sac- 
rifice everything for his happiness." 

'* Remember these promises my dear, and 
DOW promise me, that you will not leave 
Charles, nor allow him a divorce, and I die 
happy. Come dear, seal vonr promise to 
your dying mother with a kiss ; weep not ; 
there, that will do. God grant you a 
blessing ;^ God will bless the good ; remem- 
ber this my child and take courage. Charles 
was going to marry Adaline Gray, I pray- 
ed that it might be averted in some way, 
and my prayer was answered in the redeem- 
ing of your handkerchief, and now shall I 
donbt ? No, I am full of hope, when I think 
of my daughter as a praying woman, my 
heart is filled with wonderful love to Him 
who heareth prayer ; pray for Charles, my 
daoghter, when his mother's tongue is still 
in death, your prayers will come up as 
sweet incense before the throne of grace ; 
be kind to the poor, oppress not the slave. 
Tou have riches that have come to you in 
the providence of God ; be faithful to the 
important trust; these are your mother's 
last words. The Lord help yon to remem> 
ber, and meet me in heaven ; do not weep 
thus my child, but rejoice that I am ready 
to enter a happier sphere." 

'* res, mother, we will meet in that 
happy place if I am faithful ; I will be 
fidthnil, God being my helper. You have 
exerted yourself too much, take a little rest 
now dear mother," said Kate, potting the 
soft piUow under her head, andkissiag her 
pde lips, while the tears continued to fell 

thick and heavy on her mother's bosom. By 
the tender attention of Kate, she was soon 
soothed to sleep. Stooping over her moth- 
er's face once more, she was surprised at her 
short breathing, and feeling her pulse, she 
became frightened, and immediately sum- 
moned Dinah, and told her to call her 
father. The Colonel hastened to the bed 
of his wife. She looked up with a smile, 
and said — *' I am going home dear husband; 
we will soon meet again," and taking bis 
hand and that of Kate, she pressed them to 
her heart. A cold sweat stood in drops on 
her pale forehead, she breathed a short 
prayer for Charles, then closed her eyes for 
ever on all worldly objects. 

A few days, and another funeral was at 
the old mansion ; everything seemed sol- 
emn in the house where two of its meet 
lovable inmates had so recently departed. 
Time wore on. Three weeks after the 
funeral of the loved wife and mother, and 
they had heard nothing of Charles. 

" What can be the reason of Charles' not 
coming home ?" said the Col. to his afiSicted 
daughter, ** I fear he is sick. I have been 
thinking of going to try to induce him to 
come home. I think that a trip will do me 
good, will you accompany me dear Kate?" 

** My dear father nothing would give me 
greater pleasure, but you know Charles 
would not be glad to see me. Go, my dear 
fiither, and I will pray for you and my dear 
unhappy Charles." 

" And God will answer your pravers ray 
daughter," and embracing her, he soon 
made preparation and started on his jour- 
ney to Missisasippi. 

A few weeks of fearful anxiety and Kate 
had heard nothing of her fether or of 
Charles. She had made many friends, and 
many were the calls to offer ber the con- 
solation she so much needed. She did not 
return anv calls, as she felt it better to be 
alone with her God, and much of her time 
was spent in prayer for her dear father and 
husband ; remembering her promises to her 
dying mother. She was aroused from this 
one afternoon by Dinah. " A gentleman in 
the Pftrior Missus, wishes to see you." 

'* Tell him I will wait upon him in a few 
minutes. A letter from father or a mes- 
sage ; how glad I shall be ; why how it 
excites me, even to think of Charles ; Oh I j 
I hope I shall hear good news," and de^' 
soenaing to the. parlor she was surprised 
to see Mr. Bently. He arose and offered 
his hand to her, which she coldly refused^ 
and seating herself, from weakness, was 
about to ask him his business, when he 



rtood ap before her aod told her that Charles 
had aoed for a divorce in Miffiissippi which 
was the reason of his nOt writing to her ; 
he had been told so by Adalioe, who' had 
eorrespooded with him and received letters 
weekly firom him. " Ton sn^r yoorself to 
be imposed apon bj this nnfeeling wretch. 
My dear Kate, for whom I wonld sacrifice 
every thing that I possess, will yon still 
refiise me, my heart's idol 7 Oh 1 If yon 
have the least feeling for me " — 

" Say DO more, I will forgive ' yon for 
what has passed, but say no more ; know 
now, too, that I despise your advances, — 
I eonmder them dishonorable: had yon the 
tsdinga of a man, yon wonld not ofl^ me 
the tasalts yon have oflfered me in my deep 
grieC" Aod turning she was leaving the 
room« when Bently, forcing himself between 
her aiid the door, and foiling on his knees, 
pleaded his love with deep despair depicted 
oohiscoantenance. She started for another 
door aod made her escape. 

A few hours after this interview, she 
reodved a note signed by Mrs. Milford, 
saying that she would send a carriage for 
her ia tiie evening, as she was alone and 
woold very much prise an evening spent in 
her company, 

Witboat a thought that the note could 
be other than genuine, Kate dressed and 
awaited the carriage. She soon heard the 
rolling of wheels, and leaving the keys with 
Dinah, she took her seat in the carriage. 
A few moments and it stopped, and Kate 
did not notice her whereabonts, as it was 
dark and her mind was preoccupied. She 
was shown np to a splendid room and a 
iadv met her, saying : " I was left by Mrs. 
M^ttbrd to reodve yon, as she is unezpect- 
fdly called away ; but will soon return. 
Let ne take your bonnet and shawl, my 

And Adaltne removed her bonnet. " My 
stratagem has worked well," thought she ; 
' BenQy will soon be here, and then I will 
eotiee her ap stairs to look at some music, 
and sfip ost, and then he can accomplish 
hrr nun. How nicely everjrthing turns out, 
the win be a nice wife for Charles after 
this night" 

Wham these thiM^ were parsing in the 
heaK of Adalioe, Kate turned and looking 
her fhn in the face said, » If it will not be 
loo nnoli trouble I will go home now and 
other time, as it is getting 

WaD, mf dear Mrs. MoClura»" replied 
Adaline, " mil you not come np stairs and 
look at some music that Mrs. Milford 
yon to see, u she would like your 

opinion, for she thinks your taste superior 
to any one of her acquaintances, and by- 
tl^by they are new compositions.*' 

lieading the way she ran up two flights 
of stairs and entered a room where there 
was a pile of music lying on a table. 

" There are two, and now I remember 
one is in Julia's room, I wiU go and fetch it 
while you look at these." 

So saying Adaline left her and went into 
another room where Bently was waiting 
for her signal. 

** Well, Bently, I have succeeded on my 
part, now for yours ; accomplish your pur^ 
poses, but I hope force will not be needed." 

BentW soon fonad his way to the room 
where Kate was, and stealing in unobserved 
he closed the door and in locking it Kate 
looked aronnd and was horrified at seeing 
Bently. The truth fiashed upon her that 
she had been betraved. Bently stood be- 
fore het looking at her ; she sank back on a 
chair and life seemed flickering. He drew 
near her, bathed her temples in cold water 
and she breathed again. Bently's heart 
smote him, he conld not bear- her earnest 
look of despair. 

"Oh! Bently why have yon deceived 
me, and brooght me here ?" 

** Because I cannot live without you, my 
love ; do yon recant the cruel words yon 
said this afternoon ?" 

" No, never ; ihey were uttered in truth." 

" Do you still reftise me ? Know this 
then, Kate, I will either have you, or your 
ruin, this very evening. If you will get a 
divorce I will marry you, if you refuse " — 
and he attempted to take her in his arms. 
Weak from suflbring she swooned, he 
looked upon her, her bosom heaved, her 
sobs were low and distressing. Stooping 
over her he put his lips to hers aod prttsed 
her to his bosom. 

** Inocent girl I love you too much ; yon 
have conquered me. I cannot injure yon. 
No, idol of my soul, I will try to merit your 
good esteem. Yes, to know that she even 
esteems me will be a reward, for I am 
unworthy. Kate, my love, look upon me, 
-open your eyes once more, and fomve me. 
Kate, yon need not fear now ; X cannot 
injure one that I love so tenderly. Say 
that you forgive me, and I will defend your 
innocence with my life. Say that you will 
regard me as a friend ; pity me, Kate, and 
forgive me, and I will see you ndh back to 
your unhappy home." 

** Oh, tak^ me home, and I forgive yon 
all, only take me home," sobbed Kate, so 
woB^k that she was only able to articulate. 

"Oh ! say that you will forgive me, that 



yoQ will love me as a brother, and yoa shall 
never regret your condesceDslon." 

" I forffive you, Bently, and if it is pos- 
aibly I will try to love yoa as a brother, if 
Toa merit my regard, by treating me with 
becoming respecf 

" Giye me a pledge, Kate, that yon will 
not betray my dnplicity, and I will see yoa 
aafely home." 

*' You have my hand, and if that will not 
do, here is the fatal handkerchief, that I 
redeemed—the price of my poor Charles' 

" It will do better than any other yoa 
could give me, and I shall keep it near my 
heart, and when I am tempted to do wrong, 
itshaJl redeem me from doing anything 
that your pure mind would not sanction in 
a brother. Take mv arm now, Kate, and 
let us leave this unholy place where Ada- 
line Gray has contemplated the ruin of more 
than one being." 

" Adaline Gray did you say ?" 

" Yes, Adaline Gray, for it was her who 
planned it all, and I was to be an actor in 
the drama." 

*^ Can it be possible ? is she the idol of 
Charles' heart---a woman that would stoop 
go low. I do not wish to see her." 

[Conduded next month.] 

Bs KIND TO ALL. — Kiudness costs little, 
bat is worth much to the aorrowful and 
the despondiog. Kind words to the dis- 
heartened and forsaken are like cool and 
refreshing water in a far and thirsty 
land — they cheer and strengthen the one 
who receives them — and are a sovree of 
'bappinesB to him who oflbrs tiiem. 


BT W. H. P. 

How happy is the miner's lot. 

If he but thinks it so; 
In many a tweet sequestered spol. 

His life in peace may flow. 

When birds are singing on the Inils, 
And skies are hright above, 

A joy intense his bosom thrills. 
If nature's scenes he loves. 

With shovel, mck and barrow too. 

He labors all the day ; 
Then evening's qniet hours renew^ 
Fond thoughts of those away. 

With hands engaged in honest toU, 
And mind still soaring fine. 

He digs bright treasures from the soil. 
And grasps eternity. 

Should disappointments close around. 

Yet let him not repine ; 
The richest ore Is ofvsn fbund. 

Deep is the darkest mine. 

If Fortune frowns upon his life, 
Hope still should cheer him oa. 

To straggle ever in the strife. 
Till hex bright smiles aie won. 

The labor hard, the patient tho«gbt» 
Are not endured in Tain ; 

The soul more Energy has canght^ 
More vigor fills the ftame. 

O, happy is the miner's lot. 

For he can make it so. 
And many a auiet lovely spot. 

His peacefal joys ntnst know. 

Coom Moit€f», Cul^ Julp, 1851. 

®m ®m^n^ <SIJ)(B^»< 

We are gratified to know tiiat " Our Social 
Chair" meets with the approval of our read- 
ecs. '* We thought it would " — as some good 
people often say, with (if wc may be allowed 
to manufecture a word^ afUrfmpketie atHt- 
oomplaoency — inasmuch as everybody (a 
rather numerous iSunily, no dopbt J seems to 
enjoy a quiet drawing upwards of the comers 
of the month, and a merry wrinkling of the 

eye-lids, and twinkling of the eyes — when they 

Diet is often, and very justly oonaidefed to 
be the best kind of mediciae Ibr the body Cand 
often fer the mind), aad yet people fliid il to 
be something like adviee, veiy hard to take, 
and much harder to practice. Kow laughter, 
although excellent for both body and mind, 
cannot he said to have that obiection. inaa- 



madb as most follu ffeel it to be T617 etay and 
pkaaaat to take. Were «p to be oonsidered 
eHgMe to the honorable post of fanilj phyai- 
caaa to the reader, and langbter was the kind 
of physic we considered to be best adapted to 
his case and eonstitation, we can assure him 
that, how Tery nnlike and nnprofessional it 
might seem, we shoold not object to doinj^ 
that which is not often practiced among med- 
ieal man, Tis., to take the same kind of medi- 
cine onnelTes which we prescribe for oar pa* 

We fed confident that oar friend D , of 

Ihe Skaaia (hmrier langhed ''qnietly hot 
deep,** while he penned the following, — 

TimpsB Showxb avd Stebl Hoopb. — 
On seveial afternoons of the past fortoight we 
hato had faidicatioBS of thonoer showers. We 
wonld thereflbre caution our lady friends rela^ 
tnre to die danger which those wearing steel 
hoopa at snch times neeessarily incnr. Sted 
■ffimfi a^kimmg. Thns, yon see, it is the 
eaaient thmg in the world for a yonng^oman, 
— "i"'*^ in hoops of that metal daring a 
thnn^rr stonn, to be knocked into particolar 
its. Daring the thnnder shower last week we 
•haarred a yonng woman^ with whom we ate 
on rather intimate terms, nnbnrthen herself of 
this pocnliar metallic enlaigement,with a speed 
to he naarreled at. We then determined that 
onr lady readers shoold hare the benefit of 
oar knowledge of the phenomena and Uws of 
the sieclrieflaid. 

To which may be appended the " query" 

of a gentleman in Savannah. 

WMiB wMag Jpw nis i t rest , 
▲ brUe I ehanecd to in«et, 
WltH ft hoop ; 

loiwtioflS Sfomd, 
I It dneied spoiB tiMcroaiid, 


What then had I to do, 

rroa the ridcnnrik Co the mad, 
Whera there nn sfenfbl dood 


Tfeiiihe I, now h«M*t ** o eeli;" 
Why do they hoop a belle 

rdrwllo like to know 
Why IttOes d9 do 


The following simple bat feeling lines, ftom 
a friend in ICarysville, tell their own tale. 


In yeats long past I knew a girl, 

xhe path of youth adorning. 
With langhing eye and bonnmng atop,— 
An ndiant as the morning ; 
For Natnre'a brightest gem 
Wae kyralT SaUm M . 

Onr spirits were united then, 
We loved -each othff truly ; 
The love of older hearts was ours— 
- Yon will not blame as sorely : 
Lk)ve her now as then, 

1^ lovely Sallie M— -. 
In all onr dreams we wandered far 

Beyond our age or station — 
Myself in fancy oft became 
A lord of the creation — 
My only diadem 
Was lovely Sallie M . 

At length there came a chieftain rnde. 

With icy fii^gera freezing ; 
He snatched the jewel from my 8ide» 
Her form to earth bequeathing : 
Then wept I to reclaim 
My lovely Sallie M . 

This chieftain clothed her in the robes 

Which to the blessed are given, 
While hosts of angels welcomed her 
To all the joys of heaven : 
An angel there with them 
Now dwells my Sallie M . 

Whene'er this chieftain calls for me, 

I hope that be may find me 
All ready, waiting without fear. 
To leave the earth behind me : 
Death's current dark to stem. 

To lovely Sallie M 

T. B. P. 

As illustrative of some of the ** trials " of 
the editorial fraternity we subjoin the follow- 
ing, and the accompanying note, verbatim — 
with the exception of the name. If we receive 
any more such, we will publish the name of 
Ihe would-be literary thief. 


Ever constant, ever true. 
Let the wonl be, no surrender; 

Boldlv dare and greatly do ! 
This shall bring us bravely through. 

No surrender. No surrender ; 

And though Fortune's smiles be few, 

Hope is always springing new, 

Still inspiring me and you 

With a magic — ^No surrender f 

Nail the colors to the mast, 
Shooting gladly. No surrender I 

Troubles near are all but past — 
Serve them as you did the last. 

No surrender, No surrender I 
Though the skies be overcast 

And upon the sleety blast 

Disappointmente gather fast, 

Beat them off with No surrender ! 


nstant and conogoous still, 
the word tl xfo sorrender I 


Battle, tho' it be nphill, 

Stagger not at seeming ill. 
No sorrender, No Cturender ! 

Hope,— and thus joor hope fulfill,^- j 
There's a way where there's a wil]. 

And the way all cares to kill 
Is to give them — ^No surrender I 

If you think it gut yon maey Publish the 
abuf in your California Magazine. 

Tours, C. D. 

Yea — ^verily. Now we should like to give 
you "Jessie" and "no surrender" until at 
least, you bad learned sufficient honesty (as 
well as English) to make you a better man- 
There is but little hope, we fear, howerer, for 
so small and mean a pigmy. If, however, you 
have never read the fable of " The Ass in the 
Lion's skin," we adjure you " to give not sleep 
to thine eyes, nor slumber to thine eye-lids," 
before yon buy a copy and commit it well to 
memory, that, " peradventnre thou mayest 
at least learu common sense. 


We have gathered several of the choicest 
moroeaus of the California Press, which wo 
rather reluctantly lay aside for the present to 
give place to the Valedictory of our esteemed 
friend Lovejoy, whose quaint sayings we are 
to read no more, it appears, for a time, and 
which we very much regret. We hope, how- 
ever, that he will be tempted to perpetrate an 
occasional article for the California Magazine 
—just to keep him out of mischief, and our 
readers in good humor. 


Wb, J. K, LoYBJOT, editor and proprietor 
of the (Hd Mountaineer, beg leave to maike our 
lowest congee, to our numerous patrons, and 
state that we have sold out our entire interest 
in said office, to E. F. McElwain, and by 
these presents do resign our chair editorial 
and beg of our old friends, in behalf and for 
the new proprietor, a continuance of their 

We are sorry, — yea, even to the expense 
of hirinff two boys to shed tears for us, — to 
part with our old patrons, who have stood bv 
us dirongh storm and sunshine, through evil 
as well as good report, scolding us when we 
deserved it, and defending us when unjustly 
attacked by the enemies of our soul. There 
is a chain of kindly feeling created between 
die editor and his patrons, that, when rup- 
tured, makes him feet as though he had twenty 
hundred and a sack of salt piled on him ; as 
though he had broken off ties that he " had'nt 
orter," and in parting with the (Hd^ountaineer 
chair editorial, a deep feeling pervades our 
entire corporeal system, like unto thai of 

Rachel weeping for her children. That we 
have been at times harsh in reproving wrong, 
we acknowledge, 4$at the sore required toe 
knife ; that we hate endeavored at times to 
be sill^, in our remarks, there is no mistake, 
but this was occasioned by tiie natural neces- 
sities and wants of those who read our paper, 
without paying for it ; that we have told a 

food many lies in our time, is also probable, 
ut this was owing to the fact that sui>scriberB 
would complain of our not putting sufficiency 
of labor on the paper, — as it's easy to tell the 
truth— and then truth is so scarce, that we 
couldn't fill up, and make the thing go off 
lively, and to their satisfaction, wimout an 
occasional stretch of the blanket of our im- 
agination. — ^That we have puffed a good 
many fellows that deserved a good kickiog, 
and caused them to think themselves " some 
pumpkins," there is no doubt, but then that 
was done on the business principle of " yon 
tickle me and I'll tickle yon." That we have 
made enemies by showing up their dirtv tricks, 
there is no doubt, but then we'll forgive 'em, 
as we're too good natured to hold malice. 
That we have toiled a long time, and got 
nothing as yet for it, we know confoonded 
well, through a lack of the jin^ in our 
pockets, and that we are determined to have 
that which is justly due us, is a strong proof, 
that we aro a sensible sort of a fellow, and the 
fact will be rondered apparent to those m- 
debted to us, as soon as we can slosh around 
among 'em. That we have published a good 
manv communications that should have been 
stuck in the stove, we can't deny, but then 
we knew that it never would possibly do, to 
crush genius in embryo, — to be sure it was so 
far in embryo, that it would require one hun- 
dred and nfty years to develop it, but per- 
severance is a great virtue, and ought to be 
encouraged by the Press. That we have 
reproved the people for their sins, and the 
rulers for their iniqnities, any one can learn 
by sitting down and reading the back files of 
the Old Mmmtaineer^ for toe last eighteen 
months, advertisements and all ; that the tone 
of society has very much improved under our 
teaching. Is also apparant, in the ft^ct, that not 
hardly a criminal has been punished in the 
time, and that we have no courts, nor won't 
have, until next summer, unless it be one- 
horse courts, and those we thought we'd " let 
rip," so that the Justices and Constables, 
could iwy their liquor bills, and for the blanks 
they bought of us. 

And although we eschew politics and per- 
sonalities, we cannot refirain from giving " the 
last will and testament," knowing that our 
readers wUl forgive us this once " if we never 
do so no more." 

To our editorial brethren we have a word 
to say. We are grateful for the many kind 
notices we have received in times past, and beg 
Ifiare to make over to them onr eaitorial prop- 



To ILuiTe of the Ingwirer, we 

heqaeoth the nneral interests of the " Great 

Moinb;" to ^w. LuLL^of the Emrald, we 

will aad beqaeath, ae he " ftowed de fast 

Ivkk " of BepabHauiism, office in Fremont's 

Adminlstntioii ; to Col. Rust, of the Exjareu, 

we wiU « peck of onions, to Mtrengthen him in 

ki§ editonal labors; to Cbosbtte, of the 

Bacte Record^ we will and beqaeath the " Dark 

Lantern of Ki Eye and Hindooism/' and a 

dean shirt, that he mar place them beside his 

coortesy, in his cabinet of cnriosi- 

to Chjlrlbt Lincoln, of the Nwih 

I. we will and beqneat a water-mel- 

loa.'for the ase of the OroTilie ftre department, 

in case of fire ; to Nbd Campbell, of the 

iSwiry OuBwM, we will and beqaeath one of 

our grwf hain, so that he may respect old age 

aad learn better than to call us " old man," 

wbca we're as good as new ; to J W— — 

of the Suom Jomrnal, we will and beqaeath a 
woodeo gnide board, to be nailed on the side 
of hie hcSd, that he may be able to follow in 

the wake of K O B , and do his 

btjdiag, and to all, we beqaeath a kindly 
feelinff , for their prosperity and happiness, so 
that £ey will be able to say, when we meet 
m thia terrestrial sphere, — ^Lovbjot, won't 
yoa lake ao oyster sapper, and wash it down 
with a few bottles of champagne, and thns 
removo all causes of onfriendliness, that may 
kava arisen daring our editorial career, so 
that wo all may be happy when we grow old. 

To the new editor of the Afountaineer, we 
will and beqaeath oar Colt's Revolyer, two 
Bowie Kniree, a slung^bot, five canisters of 
I>apoot's best powder, and thir^r pounds of 
pistol ballii, ana we hope that if ne can't con- 
▼ince people by argument, he will do it with 
the above named logical deductions. 

Aa everr body is anxious to know their 
neighbor's bosiness, and the question is repeat- 
edly asked of as, " what do yon propose * tew 
dew,' " we will state for the public informa- 
tioa, that we either will go to the Atlantic 
StMea, or keep tavern here, buying county 
•crip on a credit, selling a first rate and cheap 
siodk (for eash,) of groceries and dry goods, 
tarn oat the present post master and take his 
place, boild a saw mill, go out on the Plains 
and timl stock ftom the Mkalied immigrants or 
keqp a inee horse ; we have an idea of visiting 
the State Prison and remaining until we learn 
from the criminal j^ntleman confined there, 
the ait of California Legislation, so that we 
may be qualified to come before a caucus Con- 
▼cntioo aad be placed in nomination for some 
oAce ; if we don't go into any of the above 
orcnpatioas, we possibly may do something 

With the kindest foelings for all, we remain 
ttalr joon, 


We aie leminded by the closing paragraphs 
of Ae above faledktory, of being present on 

the banks of the Mississippi, when the follow- 
ing conversation took pbuse between the mas- 
ter and an old negro. 

" I>avid, has Ais man been hard at work 
the whofil of this afternoon V " Dunno mas- 
sa^' replied the old negro respectfully, ''t 
tink it take um smart man jis to mind him 
own business — ^ya, yah!" "That's a fact, 
David," said his master, kindly, as he laughed 
and commenced walking away. 

We hare many times pondered over Da- 
vid's words, and have sometimes wondered if 
they applied to California politicians — among 

We welcome the following gentle-hearted 
and affectionate letter from a miner, because 
we recognize the generous feeling of sympa- 
thy, and bond of brotherhood that is desired 
should exist between children of one great 
fkmily ; for as the earth is large enough for 
all, why should we not all dwell together as 
brethren, in peace and love ; ever seeking to 
make each other happier and better for our 
union and communion — ^not between brother 
and sister only, but between man and man as 
between brethren. 


NO. I. 

In thb MiNBB, July 3, 1857. 

Dbab Sistbb Mat: — Thanks! many 
thanks for your kind letter of June Tthl, 
sweet sister May; gratefully we receive the 
expressions of sympathy and interest from 
your kind heart, oyerflowing with goodness 
and love. 

My heart warmed towards jrou on reading 
the two first words of your letter, "Dear 
Brothers,'^ for it assured me that at least one 
sincere heart felt an interest in the Miner, and 
knew his hard hands, weather-beaten face and 
rough exterior, were no true indications of 
the soul within ; refreshing it is to know that 
a fbw choice spirits, living amid the refine- 
ments of city life, can throw aside its cer- 
emonial forms and conventionalities and let 
their high aspirations and best affections fiow 
forth in the natural and sineere language of 
friendly interest or sisterlv love. 

I hope with you, that brother '* Joe," will 
favor us with more of his " conceptions," for 
those which have been published, afforded me 
exQuisite pleasure ; he sketches his characters 
with the pen of a true artist, and the tender 
pathos, and refined sensibilities with which 
ne invests them, while it deeply interests us, 
must also tend to elevate and purify the heart 
andtmproTO the mind. * 



Ton saj, " it is Sandaj, brothers, and as I 
vit writing to ^on, thtfeharch-ftelis are chiming 
musicallj, and fathers, mothers, brothers, sis- 
ters and Btrarufen, are wending their way to 
the temple of God ;" " fathers, motiMp, broth- 
ers, sisters ;" what sacred memoriesj^hat hal- 
lowed associations, these lovelj and h^Iy 
names awaken, and how hatppy we would 
all be if we recognised no otror names on 
earth ; are we not children of one Heavenly 
Father, and why should not our sympathies 
and affections extend to all that he enfolds in 
His boundless and eternal love. O let us do 
what we can to bring about the re-onion of 
the members of this now widely separated 
and often estranged family, and then no stran- 
^ will be seen wending his lonely way to tiie 
temple of our Father and our God. 

You wished you could peep in our cabin 
door or window and see what we were about. 
Ah 1 so do I wish you could peep into mine 
this evening; pleasant inaeea would be the 
bright glances of your tender and aympathis- 
ing eves, and they would surely brighten up 
the old cabin with their radiant light, but you 
would only see a lonely individual, sitting by 
tk single candle writing this response, and anx- 
iously wishing that it might afford you as 
much pleasure as your letter has given him, 
and with this wish I will bid you f^ieu. 
Sincerely and affectionately yours, 

Brothkk Fbakk. 



Tell me, darting, if yon love me, 
Tell me, if ^ur heart is mine. 

Oh I my Star, my Pearl, my Jewel, 
Tell me, for my heart is thine. 


See, the moonbeams in the air, love, 
Bach gleam glows with lambent light. 

So, mv tnouj^ts, when of my own one, 
Baca illuminates my nigbt. 


Hark, the whisper of the wind, love. 
Softly echoing back my sighs, 

May it kiss thv lips and wake thee. 
May it gently ope thine eyefl. 


For Fm waiting all alone, l6ve. 
And this worid of beauty flies. 

And the darkness soon will cover 
Up the splendor of the skies. 


Then, Oh 1 look upon me darling, 
That thv love may ^ve me light. 

For the silvery moon is leaving 
Me alone, amid the night. 



Writttk fty JWci0» Cevmd cf fikOmOi^hta, and tp^im 

df Mti. JiOim DeOk Bofmt oM tkt •ceMiM ^ tht 

Btmt/U of(h§au FrameU Bo9k mud Ijoddm' 

C^nUpmng No, 1. 9im Drtmeiito, 

The City BlomberB— o'er iti sQent walls, 
Kighfi dusky mantle, soft and silent falls ; 
Sleep o'er the world, slow wavea its wand of lead. 
And ready torpor, wraps each sinking head— 
Btni'd is the. stir of Labor, and of Life~ 
Hush'd is the hum. and tranqailized the strife, 
Han is at rest, with all his hopes and feafK->~ 
The Tonng forget Ihetr sportfr— flie Old their e aro i 
The grave or careless— these whoioj or weep, 
All rest oontented on the Arm of Sleep. — 
Sweet Is the rest of Beauty now, 
And Slumber smiles upon her tranquil brow; 
Bright are her dreams— yes bright as Heaven's own 

Pure as its Joys, and gentle as its dew. 
They lead her forth, along the moon-lit tide, 
Her heart's own partner, wandering by her side ; 
*Tis summer's eve— the soft gales searaely Musa 
The h>w- voicOd ripple, and the rustllog boughs ; 
While faint and far, some melting minstrel's tone 
Breathes to her heart, a music like its own. — 
When, hark f oh horror t What a crash was there f 
What shri^ was that— whidi rends the midaS^t air t 
'Tis Fin I 'tis Fin I she wakes to dream no mora. 
The hot blast rushes through the blaaing door. 
The room Is dimmed with smoke, and hark that cry t 
Help I hdp I will no one oome f I die I I die I 
She seeks the easement, shaddering at Its helglit, 
She turns agafaa,— the fierce flames mock her flight. 
Along the crashing stairs thev wildly play, 
And war exulting, as they seize theur prey. 
Helpl help I will no one oome t she eaa no BM>r»— 
But breathless- fslnting— stalks upon the floor. 
Will no one save thee t Yes there yet Is on» reaaaina. 
To save, when Hope itself Is gcme — ^whea all have 

When all but he would flj^— 
The Flmmam eomos to nscus or to dig I 
He mounU the stair 1 It wavers 'neath his tread — 
He seeks the room, — flames flashing round his head- 
He burst the door— he lifts her prostrate fkvme, 
And turns again to brave the raging flame. 
The flre-blaeto emite him, with their stifling bratth. 
The falling timbers, menace him with deatth. 
The sinking floor his hurried steps betray. 
While ruin crashes round his despersfte way. 
Hot smoke obscur e s t en thoiMUuid eiaden rise, 
Tel stUl, he staggers fbrward, with his priaet 
He leaps fh>m burning stair, to stair on i ooiuraipe I 

on I 
One eflbrt more and all it won. 
The stair is passed,— the blaaing haB Is brav'd. 
Still on I yet on I eaee more thaak Ueavea •!»•*• 

saved I 
The hardy Seaman psits, the storm to brave, 
For beekouing Fortune, lures from wave to ware ; 
The Soldier battles 'neath the smoky cloud. 
For glory's bow is painted on the shroud.— 
The Firemen also, dare each shape of death — 
fet not for fbrtune's gold, or glory's wreath — 
No selfish tiirob, within their breast is known, 
No hope of praise or profit cheers them on. 
They ask no fame— no praise, and only seek 
To shield the suffering, and protect the weak — 
For this, the howUng midnight storm they woo — 
For this, the raging flames, rush fearless thran^h. 
Mount the fTi^ rafter— tread the shaky hall. 
And toil unsfarinkiag, 'neath the tottering waU^— 
Kobler than those, who with fraternal blood, 
Dy i the dread fleld, and ttaige the shuddering flood. 
O «r their firm rankc, no ertanson banners ware, 
They dare— they suffer, not to slay, but savs. 
At such a sight Hope smiles more heavenly brii^t. 
Pale, pensive IMty, trembles with delight, 
▲nd soft-eved Mercy, stooptag from 
Drops a bright isar— a fsor of >0f and loes. 



€)iMti Cabk 

Oimn>xI]CPRB8SxoKS of California. — 
Among tlie saperfidal readers, and more sa- 
perficial thinkers of the Eastern States, it may 
not be vnexpected that a somewhat nnfavora- 
ble impression should exist concerning Cali- 
fornia, inasmuch as records of shooting and 
lUbbing affrays ; of low, political log-rolling 
and ballot-box stuffings ; of official incapacity 
and dishonesty; of political and private cor- 
ruption ; and a hundred other practices— con- 
sequent upon the indiscriminate and over-ex- 
pectant character of the tide of emigration 
whidi set towards the golden shores of Cali- 
fornia, in her earlier days ; and the predisposi- 
tion of so many persons to make, not only an 
easy fiTing, but a large and rapid fortune, at 
any expense and sacrifice of character or self- 
respect, though never so much at variance with 
high-minded morality and honorable princi- 
ple—have been reported and exposed by the 
preM of California. These reports have found 
their way semi-monthly to the Atlantic reader ; 
*B^» judging from the tone of the epistles of 
eaution and entreaty written in return, we 
might suppose that such reports were the only 
articles read; while those relating to our 
social, educational, commercial, agricultural 
and mechanical progress, have been either 
earwwily perused, or skipped altogether. 
Kow todi an unfkir and one-sided manner of 
reading, has worked a double disadvantage to 
our BasCem friends— «nd indirectly to our- 
■elrea first, by giving them an erroneous im- 
piemi on of our true condition— and next, by 
eaneing an unnecessary measure of anxiety 
far oar safety and progressive prosperity; 
beeide* influencing the good and timid, against 
eoming to east their lot among us ; when it 
woold be to their own and the State's advan- 
tige §or them to do so. We moreover must 
obfoeito the moral and social condition of 
1851 and 1859, being received as the mond 
■nd social condition of the people of Califor- 
in 1857. The absence of the dviKzing 
of woman here, at that time, ia in 
a Ititai measure eonected, at the present, 
^ahhough even now, in proportion, there is 
bat one woman to five men) and a corres- 
ponding correetiott in morals and social com- 
fort, has been the resoll. What then, would 
be Ibe effect among ns^ of a genoions 

of the loving and true-hearted of the gentler 
sex? We answer without hesitation, tliat 
California would be, almost, a paradise of con- 
tentment ; and, as the idea of making haste to 
be rich would then be abandoned, men would 
be content with a reasonable reward for their 
labor, and would be well satisfied to make for 
themselves a comfortable home, in the richest 
country, with the healthiest climate, in the 

Tblboraphio xvj> Fostai.. — One of the 
most important and feasible propositions we 
have yet seen for placing California in speedy 
and safe overland communication ^Ui the 
Atlantic States, is'that of H. O'Keilley, the 
Telegraph Pioneer. He proposes to establish 
telegraphic and light postal communication, 
from the Atlantic to the Pacific, in the follow- 
ing manner : A line of telegraph is to be con- 
structed, at his own cost, which shall be under 
tiie military protection of the Qovemment; 
who shall construct a number of stockades or 
other suitable fortifications and posts, from 
twenty to thirty miles apart ; at each of which 
a number of dragoons are to be stationed, 
whose duty it shall bo to carry a light mail- 
daily or otherwise — at great speed, from one 
post to the other ; and protect the telegraph 
and wagon road. 

This proposition merits the serious consider- 
ation of the people as well as the Government, 
inasmuch as it not only opens up, protects, 
and facilitates speedy communication between 
the two sides of the continent, and gives an 
encouraging impetus to emigration ; but each 
post becomes the germ of a new settlement, 
around which, in suitable locations, will spring 
up a population that shall be the connecting 
links between the East and the West ; and in- 
troductory to profitable railway transportation 
upon the whole line of the Pacific Railroad. 
Besides, when the telegraph is constructed, 
posts established, and settlements formed, it 
will be comparatively but a pleasure trip, to 
journey from one side of the continent to 
the other; and the now painful idea of dis- 
tance between friends, become almost annihi- 

MoBB Watxb Waxtxd^— It is a fectthai 
although there act upwards of fiMir thousand 



five hundred miles of canals in this State for , 
supplying the mining distriiils with water; at 
a cost of over fourteen millions of dollars ; at 
the present moment the precious element is 
becoming so scarce in many of those districts 
as to necessitate men to leave their mountain 
homes, in search of places where they can find 
sufficient water to enable them to work. Now 
we ask any business man if this is good policy, 
when there is a chain of lakes lying near the 
very summits, and along the whole line of the 
Kevadas, which contain water sufficient to 
supply every mining camp within the State 
with water for the entire summer's use, if it 
were judiciously introduced for that purpose ? 

Thb fi&st Oalifosnia Industbial Ex- 
hibition. — Progreu is the watchword of Cali- 
fomians. Everybody knows that on the 
seventh day of September next, the first In- 
dustrial Fair ever held in this State, will be 
opened, under the direction of the Mechanics' 
Institute of the city of San Francisco : and 
will continue open for at least ten days. The 
Committee of Arrangements have sent circu- 
lars of invitation to all parts of the State 
soliciting for exhibition, the products of every 
department of industry ; works of art of every 
variety; choice specimens of ingenuity and 
skill ; rare and valuable productions, natural 
or artificial ; the delicate and beautiful handi- 
work of woman ; useful labor-saving machines : 
implements of mining and husbandry ; new 
models of machinery; the products of the 
quarry and the mine, the hot^house, the 
orchard, the vineyard, the garden and the 
field, — ^in short, whatever nature and art can 
contribute, curiosity discover, or ingenuity 

Steam-power will be provided, that Ma- 
chinery of all kinds may be seen in actual 
operation ; and every facility possible, will be 
given to exhibit all working machinery to the 
best advantage. 

Now we believe that there is not a man or 
woman, from the Signal to the Siskiyou 
mountains, and from the Golden Gate to 
Utah, (not excluding our interesting, though 
less powerful neighbor — Oregon,) who is not 
interested in such an exhibition. Onr glorious 
young State will be the good or ill, the great 
or small, the powerful or weak, the envied 
or tfaje despised ; dear reader, which you or I, 
is individualB, ma/ make Iflr. 

It is a disgrace to us that several million' 
of dollars should be sent out each month, for 
articles which can be produced here, as low as 
they can be imported. We supply the wof)d 
with a metallic currency, for such articles ; and 
after all we are maligned, suspected, and re 
proached for our folly, — and it serves us right. 

Thb Statb Aqbicultubal Faib. — This 
excellent Cattle Show, and Industrial Exhibi- 
tion, will be holden this year at Stockton dur- 
ing the last two days of September and the 
first two of October, and will exhibit the 
various and wonderful products of the soil, 
and specimens of artistic taste and skill in 
every department of Home Industry. — Our 
adopted home, our individual progress, the 
welfare of our children, and the State's ad- 
vantages tell us that the time has fully come 
to usher in a new era to our unparalleled 
California. What, reader, can yon produce 1 

About ooino to Chubch. — We do not 
presume to be mora religiously inclined, nor 
any better, than onr neighbors ; and yet we 
must confess that the exercises in a church 
on a Sunday are very grateful to onr feelings. 
There is something so calm and soothing in 
its appearance and general effect, as we enter ; 
such a neatness and tidiness in the dress of the 
worshippers— especially the ladies ; and such 
a care-forgetting expressiveness of counten- 
ance to all (even the mourning and the be- 
reaved look submissive and comforted) that 
we instinctively shudder at the idea of ** what 
a god-forsaken earth this would be if there 
were no chnrches, no sabbath, and no-go-to- 
meeting-people." Then the music that we 
hear there ; with all its tear-starting memories 
of other days and other times ; when, with 
those we love 'we took sweet council/ or 
' walked to the house of God in company,' or 
side by side we sing the songs of praise, 
together; how that music renews the remem* 
brance ? And as with slow stops we thonght- 
fully wend our way from the doors of the 
sanctuary, we think of those who are fiur 
away; to wonder if they are sorrowful, or 
happy ; if they are thinking of the absent 
ones; if they love us yet; if they miss us 
when they see us not in our accustomed 
place, on sabbath-day. All of these thoughts 
seem to remind us that the hour at church 
was well spent, and that "it was good to be 
there " even though we heard not a word of 
the sermon. 




P. — Tonn will be good for next month. 
/. L. H.^^Yaur name and addrees. 

G. H. /L, Stent Digginga.^Wt shall crer 
welcome rach contributions from yoar pen. 

Umaio K. ^.— Will be found a place in torn 
if we reoeiTe the name and address of the 
writer — not otherwise. For we will not in- 
sert any anonymous communication. No 
respectable and well meaning person can 
for a moment object, when the^mnst know 
chat their name is kept sacredly private 
with OS. Anonymous writers, we regret to 
say, are too often dishonorably inclined-— 
by wishing to tMne in another's thoughts. 
Besides, changes are often necessary, and 
good pieces are often thrown aside, because 
we cannot write to the author to suggest 
die changes we desire. 

ir— ijinrr — ^Tour very interesting account 
came safely, and would hare been found 
a place this month, but it was a little too 
late. Could you send us a few si^ritod 
sketches with your nextl Many thanks 
oU fHend, for your kind wishes — ^they are 
jewels we gratefully accept and treasure in 
our heart of hearts. 

C. />., Springfield, — See social chair. Those 
beantiliil lines we saw many years ago ; — 
awl now yon want to pass them off as 
original: jpea who cannot even write the 
simplest words in the English language 
eorrecUy ; — for instance fful for good — meoy 
for may— a6«/*for above. If we could give 
ttttesmnoe to what we feel you would hear 
hot and hard words buzzing about 
inra-— yon would* 

H. 5. — ^We wish tiiat you would send us as 
good an article on the snakes of California ; 
as, belisTO us, it would be very accept- 

5vdk £0, T.^lf yon do not wish your articles 
w be hurried in the Dead Letter office at 
Washington, be sure to write our address 
(and your communications) a little plainer. 

received. Whether articles 

to tts from the hard4ianded miner, or 

As soft-hnndad gentleman (so that the ad- 

jective applied to the hand does not include 
the head) is a matter of perfect indifference 
to us. We have no airs to put on to either : 
we fbel that whatever the occupations may 
be "a man's a man for a that," and it is the 
man with whom we like to do, all that we 
ask therefore is, that the articles sent be good 
and — Califomian. 

Exeter, Zipper PlacervHU. — ^We have no less 
than seven grave subjects on hand and as 
we are not in the Undertaking business, 
and certainly have no desire to run on any 
ticket for Coroner, we will ask the favor of 
hearing from your able pen on some subject 
of living interest believing that our good- 
humoured readers would prefer such, and 
ourselves, ditto I 

A., DownieviUe, — Shall we run your poetry 
into prose 1 

M. — ^If you are offend^ we cannot help it. 
If we have given you cause for offence we 
are truly sorry — ^but we cannot, and we will 
not, publish such a slovenly article as that 
of yours — ^whether we offend or please you. 
If your displeasure should cause us the loss 
of your subscription we cannot help it. We 
were able to earn a living — and an honest 
one at that — ^before we knew you ; and wo 
are in hopes that a living-making " lead " 
will not "run out" just yet; if your sub- 
scription and "your influence" should. 
Let her "slide." 

T, R. — Ton little thought when you wrote 
your lines that our vest would be rent from 
the top to the bottom, with reading them. 
You would make an excellent " digger " to 
some California "Hamlet." Send some 
more like them, and we'll foot the tailor's 
"bill of repaus," for the vest, if it should 
again rend in the same way, from involun- 
tary laughter. 

Uheal, CamptonvUle. — Our engraver says that 
he intends bribing his dog to bite you above 
the top of your boot, when you visit this 
city I If you want half a dozen of Lang- 
ton's best pack mules " loaded down " with 
"original poetry" such as we have, just 
send them along. 


Mr. Joshua Flimpkins. from Western 
Mitaonri, came to CoUforDiai overland. Is 
miner, O. K., &c., Ac., — Btarta on a trip Co 
San Francisco ; baa Dever Been a city ; is 
determlDed to see one. 

Takes the stage, or the stags him, and 
arrives in SacrAmeato, where he stavs over 
one day ; and puts up at a first class 

DurioK the night oor hern is awakened 
by ao uarm of fire ; hastily dressing, be 
makes fbr the street ; but on bis way 
tbroagh a ietk and stranp^ passage, 
is Buiidi'niy brought np standing ; thinks 
somebody hit him ; commences " sloshing 
aroQOd ;" seizes bis assailant — which proves 

to be a dooT'-and nwhea into the street 
with it ; all he asks is plenty of room and 
(air play. 

Not being in the vicinity orthefire,heli 
arrested for burglary and tarceuy, and lock- 
ed up in the Station Honse for the remain* 
der of the night ; as a city ittatitation he 
don't like it ; is discharged next day ofier 
a full explanation and payment of dama- 

Thus far, is not fevorably Impressed with 
city life, and resolves, in cam of aoother 
fire, the city may all bom up befure he will 
do anytbiog to save it ; and tfait ever alt«r 
this, be will aut with full composure and 
presence of mind, in every emec^ncy. 

Inquires the ronte and distance to Sac- 
ramento river, as he wishes to go to 8aa 
Francisco on a steamboat. 

Tho levee is pointed out to him ; he makes 
hia way there, and for the first lime sees a 
steamboat ; is amazed at it« si^e and build ; 
calls for the Captain ; won't talk to any 
body else ; is introduced, but finding him a 
mao withoot regimentals or aniform. won't 
reeogiiize him as the Captain ; but desires 
the geatlemau introduoed, to ioquire of the 
Captain — if ha knows him— wbetber he 
really Ihiaks tbe boiler will buret this trip ; 
for if BO, he for one will lay over a day. 

On being assured there is no dauger, he 
goes on board. 

Boat gets underway, while he is below 
looking at tbe machinery ; is asked what 
he thinks of it ; says he thinks It works 
well, considering how hot a place it baa to 
do it in ; wonders when the boat will start ; 
comes on deck and looks ashore ; don't 
understand what posesses the river hanks 
to he runDing np stream as snch a rate. 

Thinks if the boat, when under way, will 
ran as fast down stream even, as the river 
hacks ore now running np, that she la de- 
cidedly a Ia9t arrangement, and would do 
no mean getting around even on land, if 
there was only any way to get her out. 

Boat approaches the Uog's-back ; Mr. 
Fllmpkins bos heard of the hog's back ia 
the river ; bat don't believe a word of it ; 
boat rubs and comes to a dead stop. 

Is now convinced upon reflection sod 
observation that tbe boat, and not the river 
banks, has been moving; attributes his 
mistake in the matier heretofore, toa batlu- 
cination or the brain, caused by an incident 
oriastuight'sfire ; heBlJllihinkssomethbg 
hit him. 

Discovers two men at the wheel ; gota 
to them, just as the boat gets nDder«a,7 
again ; beooni int^tiated in the moTBBKBt 


pveD lo tlie wh«d ; itadii-B □pan it, and itg 
nae t tbioka be has it; iutrodaces himself 
■lib, -tatmd her off, did T(0u?" The 
Pilot nods uMent, and asks him to takes 
Kat ; IB pleased at Ibe coar[««j ahown him ; 
opeoa coaTemtion by aekiag the Pilot 
what, be Rkllj sapfkoaes tbe bog'a back to 

la told, that it is doabtleas a ahoal ; bat 
tb»t DO one has reall; ever eeen it, since the 
dajB of miufdif aaier. 

Mr. Flimpkiua reflect! apon the aabject, 
and aaka ir boaTa nb it, goinr up as well 
as dotcn tbe river ; ia told taut they do ; 
tbioka fiirther npon the subject ; has now 
an opiniiM of hia oirn, and will eipresa it, 
with the geDtlemcn's permission ; they as- 
aent. The bog's back, he thinks, is, as one 
of ibegeotlemfD has just remarked, " doubt- 
leai » ithoai." ao amphibious specits of the 
iavisibleordfroranimala ; huareud of such ; 
and tbe reaaoa wh^ he allows boats to rub 
bim both ways, w, becuose his bristles 
stand etntigfat op. 

Pilot otoerves that hia elncidation of the 
aabject, is aa clear as river water. Ur. 
Fltmpkias ia iocliDcd to be iodigDaot, and 
nukes hia eiit. 

ArriTu at San Francisco ten o'clock, 
P. H^ oU safe. Is asked if he will have a 
cab? Deierraw acab; don't exactly nnder- 
i what is meaot ; thinks it may be 
JgnKot of cabbage ;"-''- 
he tbioka, by answering, 
per on Ibe boat." 

Bdiyains with a backman to carry him 
to " •ny port of the cily for a dollar "; gets 
b ; rides twen'y yards, hack atops, and he 
ia astooiabed by tbe appearance, at the 
back window, of a highwayman, who de- 
mands his money ; be will take a half a dol- 
lar, at least ; Mr. Flimpkina desires tbe 
driver to explain ; can't do it, any further 
than to aay be is attacked by a wbarfiDger, 
» tV^cie* of city institution. 

BmoItcb not to atand it ; layi 
etmt and stepa oat, prepared for anything, 
or anybody ; faackmao cracks his whip and 
ka*M oar bero"aorter sloshing round ;" 
bat *eea ao many be don't know who to bit 
Bnt. Coat, back, and dollar gone, deter- 
■ines to proceed to the city on foot and 
ahne ; ao tarns and lakea a less frequented 
tfaaroogh&re, in bopea of avoiding every- 
tbinc like a city insiitntioD ; but on going 
tm nda Bteeta with one; folia through a 
mM^tr*p, but Inckily a fbrtonate spike and 
» projectiog tragment of plank, at the ei- 
BMn oTa portion of his pantaloons, savea 
UB ; aod nt, Mr. HunpliiDi ia oot entirely 
piMMd witb kia ailoation. 

Is rescued by a boatman near at hand, 
who by hia readineas seems to have antid- 

pated the accident as about to happen to 
some one — all bat the BDRpension. 

Tbe boatman chargea five dollars fur eer- 
Tices; Mr. Flimpkina thinks it "rather 
steep," but on being told that it was much 
less than the City Coroner would have 
charged, if ht had got hold of him, con- 
cladea to pay and charge it to the account 
of city inatitotions. 

By themerestchancehe escapes all other 
dangers and accidents ; arrlTeaand pnU Dp 


be will make up by economy in his really 
necessary expenses, what be seems destined 
to lose by his acqQaiotance with, and 
knowledge gained, orcity institutions. 

Near midnight Mr. Flimpkins is again 
aroused by the cry of fire I out feels per- 
fectly composed ; knows he ia ; will let the 
city bam this time ; will take things easy, 
though beia certain the story above him is 
in flames, and water from what he conaid- 
era a dabioua fountain, is already trickling 
apon him, for he never had seea fire engine 
throwing water np hill, and into windowa, 
or the pictore of one, bnt believes he might 
have seen one in Sacramento, if he hadn't 
been arrested for burglary. 

Upon farther reflection however, and find- 
ing hia window smashed in, he thinks it 
may be his solemn duty to get up and fave 
whathecan. Witbereatpreteuce of mind, 
be rashes into an adjoining parlor, seiiea a 
two hundred dollar mantle clock, and throw* 
it oat of the window, to anve it, and is 
kicked out of the room by a fireman. 


iod ; throtra 
it of the wiD- 
iw the mirror 
Aira, waah- 
wd, ■□(! B, 
al) chest of 
raw era, to 
sir deatrnc- 

»T QUIT FUIMCK 0» KIID El '™'' '" ** 

siru 1 TiMi-i'iiut. street ; aeize« a 

WBfib-bowl aad 

pitcher, raahes denn ataira aod ecapca at 

the door, aa the flamea and cindera are joat 

reaching his head. 

A ahont from 
, _ j^-ia » the firemen as he 

^^^^^v^^^to makes hia 

IS hia appear- 

, dresased in a 

shIVt and ooe sock, 

clear); ebawa that 
in their minds, the 
wonderfal preKOce 
or mind poeseaeed 
by Mr. PlimfJtina, 
nnder difficulties, ia 
Tull^ eatabliakd ; 
having saved the 
bnirl and pitcher 
of his landlord. 
but left aa entire 

hii coat, which he 
bad loBt wiih his 

Tu™ »t" ViSETioITt '*'•"" '**='' '■'^'*— 

tBi>a. and a parse of dost 

aodcoin,of almoat 
a bnndted dollara more — aoder Ihe back 
part of hia twenly-flve-ceDt-a-ni^ht-bod, as 
a precanUonary measure agaioat night 
tbieresand other dtj ingtitations. 

But aa " misfortDnes never come ringle," 
BO Sir. Flimpkioa finda it, for b; the merest 
aaident, of course, a jet of water from a 
hose-pipe, compleiely deluges him, reduces 
his hair from the perpendicular to the oppo- 
site directina, cooUhisardor, republishes 
bis presence of mind, and while reflecting 
npon hia adveoturea Uina far, wonders if all 
tyaatxj geoUemen TidtlDg the citiee, are 

)g riciaitudcs ; 
woiiders he baa never read of it in the pa- 
pere ; could write a volnrae npon the eab- 
ject himself, and tbioka he will whenever 
hia circumatances will admit of it. 

At present bu another matter to attend 
to of greater imporlance ; is almost without 
clothiug, and nothing to get new ones with ; 
is fearful he has but fuw friends outside the 
mines ; atmost wishes himself back there 
again ; would go at once, if he had the 
means, and was in proper condition ; is at 
a loss to know which way to turn for a 
helping band. 

AlmoBt in despair, Mr. Flimpkins Enr- 
reys the prospect ; but, as he baa oRen re- 
marked, he " never prospected yet in Gali- 
foruia, without finditig the color," bo even 
□ow, although in the city, the rale holds 
good, for the color ahowB, and ia the means 
of temporarily supplying him with a gar- 
ment, that to all ontwnrd appearance can 
be spared, without being much miased. 

Hr. Flimpkins, as a matter of expediencjr 
in the present emergency, accepts the crino- 

line tu part or a city institution. Agaia 
resolves that hereatter he will leave the 
entire carea and duties of a fireman, to the 
fire department 

Mr. Flimnkina is still in the city, in ex- 
cellent healtii ; resolves to stay it out and 
make a note of what he sees; in doing 
which, he will again appear to ike reader* 
of the California Magasine in aa entire Dew 



SBFTBajBEB., 1867. 




At thu MaioD of the jear, when ever; 
tatetjgj of tbe entorpniing river miner ii 
eettccntisted apon tlie grant andertaldng 
of bM Mdaooa work, it dwj not be amiu 
to deeeribe tbe nunner id which tbe plrno' 
■isge «f Us minfl, peihkpa for montha, or 
«•<■ jtnt, an euried ont 

When it becomea desirftble to ohun tbe 
moQDtun torrent, which is beedleul; mah- 
ing pHt, ktid tnmiog it oat of ita natanl 
chonoel, thkt the glittering gold, lyiag in 
tbe rivet's bed, mxj be tmuferred from 
thence to the buckskin purge of tbe miner ; 
be talks tbe matter over with some confi- 
dential and tmstwortby and berd'wmkiiig 
compa&ima, when they motsally agree 



that '' there is gold there — sure/' if they 
can only get it. 

The ways and means are accordingly de- 
vised ; sometimes by making up a compa- 
ny of eight, or ten, or twenty, or any other 
desirable number ; and as the cost will be 
about so much, each member of the com- 
pany has to contribute his share of the 
amount agreed upon, as the work progress- 
es. Should it cost less or more — ^generally 
it is the latter — ^the proportion is diminish- 
ed, or increased by assessments according 
to the number of shares. At other tiniest 
a number of men who live together on the 
same bar, and who, being well acquainted 
with each other, and tolerably well inform- 
ed of what the other possesses, will raise 
whatever timber or tools may be required, 
from among themselves, and " get along 
as well as they can, for the balance " — 
which often is but very indifferently — and 
go to work with a will to accompiish their 

To to do this, sometimes, a race has to 
be dug ; at others, a flume has to be built, 
requiring to be of sufficient capacity to 
take in the whole amount of water rnn- 
niug in the river. This being done, a 
dam has to be constructed across the 
river, that shall be water-tight, or nearly 
so. To build this dam, very often re- 
quires that men work in the water, which 
is generally very cold, for, as it comes 
from the melting snows, it cannot be ex- 
pected to be very warm ; at least, before 
the river is very low, and men seldom wait 
for that — they therefore enter the river ; 
and by rolling up large boulders into a 
line for building a wall, they turn the wa- 
ter from the one side towards the flume on 
the other, and when one wall is thus rudely 
but substantially constructed, another is 
built behind it ; when all the light floating 
sand is cleaned out, that it may not be in 
the way of making the space water-tight 
between the walls ; a clayey soil is then 
filled in and well tramped, until the dam 
is tight ; and the water is running through 
the raoe or flume. Sometimes a tree or 

log is felled across the stream, (if one can 
be found long enough to reach, and in the 
right place,) when slabs or split timbers 
are put in, in an inclined position, and 
either nailed or pinned to the log, when 
the whole space in front is filled up with 
clayey soil and fine boughs of trees until 
it is made water-tight. 

The river now being turned into the 
race, wheels are erected across it ; and 
pumps are attached by which the water 
still remaining in the river's bed is pumped 
out. Now river mining is commenced is 
real earnest ; men begin to remove boul- 
ders, wheel out rocks, fix toms, or sluices, 
and take out the precious metal — if there 
is any. (The writer has seen as high as 
five thousand two hundred and twenty- 
seven dollars, taken out from behind a 
boulder, in a single pan of dirt.) 

Should the fall rains be late before com- 
mencing, every opportunity is given to 
work out the river claims to advantage — 
or at least to test them sufficiently either 
to work or abandon them. If on the con- 
trary — as frequently occurs — the rains 
should come early, the whole of the sum- 
mer's labor and expense are swept awaj 
before a dollar can be taken out. Manj, 
men are thus left penniless, afler the toil 
and hope of a long and scorching summer^ 
Taking the losses with the gain, it is veri 
questionable if more gold has not actuall} 
been invested in river mining, than hii 
ever been taken out. 

Some more comprehensive plan of 0| 
erations than the present is much need< 
before the streams can be thorougl 
worked to profit and advantage. We pi 
pose a plan, to be accepted or modifii 
according to circumstances, which wot 
in our opinion, accomplish the object 1 
question. | 

Water is the great want of all kinds j 
surface mining. To supply this want I 
iJie whole of the water in a river during 11 
summer season, be conveyed in one 
more flumes on one or both sides of fl 
river, as may be most desirable, to min^ 





gronnd ; and let the dams be so constrnct- 
ed tbst the highest stsge of water daring 
the winter or spring season cannot in the 
least damage, ranch less destroy them, aa 
at the present time. 

There will be no leas than eight hun- 
dred tbonsand dollars expended in flnmes 
and dams on Feather river, abore and 
within ten miles of Oroville, this present 

Now had even tw 
money been invested 

that amount of 
eoostracting one 
Bnbstantial flames, above high 
water mark, it would have been an invest- 
ment of profit, as well aa permanency, from 
the amount of water sold for mining pur- 
poses, besides accomplishing the work of 
turning the river, not only for the present 
bnt for many summers to come. 

Supposing that adam be conatmcted Ia 
e^eh mile of river turned (aa at present) ; 

each dam will cost, upon an average, abont 
eight thousand dollars ; in the ten milea 
mentioned of course there would be ten in 
nnmber, making eighty thoosoud dollan ; 
now should that sum be uied to eonatrnet 
one permaneDt dam that abonld laat not 
only for one, but for many Beasons, — be- 
sides the advantagea it would offer lo 
Other claim owners by not backing the 
water upon them, as now — it would be a 
piece of economy that must commend itaelt 
to the thooghtful couaideralion of all per- 
Bons interested in river mining. Should 
all the companies on a single stream unite 
for this purpose, even though the claims in 
the river ahoald fail, they would have hd 
important and profitable intereat in a 
flume ; which, while it druned the river, 
would alao aupply the dry mining diatricts 
with water. We ask yon to think the msi- 
ter over and let na hear from yon. 

[nvmoR Ambml^pc (y Wbali if JfieftadtJ 

The above worka are situated in the 
town of Sntter, Amador county, and, with 
simitar ones at Orass Valley, Nevada 
i^nnty, are the only works in the mining 

diatriota where all kinds of machinery, ii 
brass and iron, are cast for quartz mining. 
and without the delay and eipense oi 
sending to Ihe larger cities, as formerly. 



Tit •bore beantiful and roroantie little 
Biung camp is litDated on the South 
tatk of the Stanialftiu river, abont fbar 
Bila Doiik«ut of Colombia, Tnolamne 
^outj. Dmp down in the roek; chasm 
of * noontain Btream, and shnt out appa- 
toiIt ftoia tbe great heart-pnlse of popu- 
liiion, it has foatered a hardy, and some- 
*lul impTOTident class of men, and who 
tuT* an aneomfortable Btjie of living. 
AtttKted thither bj the wealth slnmbering 
irrfiitnrbed in the stream, ihey hepan to 
pilch their tents and build their cabin 
bomci; and aa their prospectings gave 
^iopeof agolden "reward, thej bailt dams, 
'Bncd the nier, and pnmped the bed of it 
'i>7 ; Kareetj commencing when a fall of 
i^i and now began to swell the Btream, 
ud one bj one to rentoTe the results of so 
iBcb labor and faith and patience. 

M«a who had ttaked their all upon the 
i*«e»s or failnt* of this uocertain nnder- 


taking, lost it. To aacceed wonld make 
men rich for life — to foil, "why, oh! we 
shan't fail," they felt and believed, — waa 
to begin life anew and pay perhaps a 
heavy bill doe tbe storekeepei^-often on- 
fairly called " working out a dead hone." 
Time afler time has tUs experiment 
been tried with and without snceess, not 
only here, bat iu Dnmberless other places. 
Men whose home — no, their " stopping 
place " — is in such oul^-the-way localities 
have, too, to forego many of the comforts 
of life. E^-ery ponnd of provision has to 
be packed upon their own back or upon 
that of Bome favorite donkey or mule. As 
yon descend towards the encampment, M 
steep mountain sides almost make yoni 
head swim, lest, by some mishap of your 
animal or yourself, yon may " fall over^ 
board," down tbe rugged and almost pei^ 
pendicular rocks at your side. Men who 
thos live, and work, and strive, earn every 
dollar they may make, even though it should 
comprise a very large fortune. 




On the opposite page we give to our rea- 
ders a view of the building in which the 
first exposition of the products of Califor- 
nia industry will be made. It is a some- 
what capacious structure, in the form of a 
Greek cross, covering an area of about 
eighteen thousand square feet. The dome 
in the centre, with the towers, cornices, 
and other appropriate ornaments, gives it 
an air of singularity and importance which 
is highly creditable to the authors of the 

No pains have been spared by the officers 
of the Mechanics' Institute, under whose 
auspices and management it has thus far 
progressed, to bring together the various 
productions of California industry for ex- 

Already manufactures have been exten- 
sively produced in this State which for- 
merly we used to import, such as furniture, 
oil, buggies, all kinds of soaps, glue, can- 
dles, stoves, salt, pickles, preserves, ver- 
macilli, brushes, cordage, leather, piano- 
fortes, billiard tables, jewelry, regalias, 
embroidery and crochet work, wagons, all 
kinds of coopers' work, such as tubs, bar- 
rels, buckets, &c., bookbinding, sugar re- 
fining, children's toys, hats and caps, 
mathematical, surgical and chemical in- 
struments, matches, in quantities sufficient 
to supply the State, willow ware, imitation 
marble, asphaltum, saddlery of all kinds, 
pumps and blocks for ships, all kinds of 
the finest flavored wines, brandy, &c., 
i>team engines, wire work, and paper — 
with a host of others which might be enu- 
' merated, and all of which are manufactured 
in large quantities, of as good if not better 
quality, and cheaper than they can be im- 

Then there are various important Cal- 
ifornia inventions, such as grain reapers — 
far excelling in utility any similar inven- 
tions in the east, — an improved electrical 
clock, a machine for making mouldings 
which planes four sides at once, — an inven- 

tion for measuring the depHi of the sea, the 
steam wagon, apparatus for accelerating 
fermentations, improved methods of assay- 
ing metals, a machine for drilling rock by 
mospheric air, improved models of |8teani 
engines and machinery, agricultural imple- 
ments, newly invented quartz crushers, a 
dentist's chair of singular mechanism, 
ingenious fire-arms, &c., &c. 

The fine arts will be represented in their 
various and interesting details. California 
curiosities ; and an endless variety of the 
products of the soil ; and, though last not 
least, various specimens of the skill, taate 
and handiwork of woman. 

Judging from the interest so generally 
manifested in this enterprise, a new era is 
about to dawn upon our glorious young 
State which, while it teaches the great yir- 
tue of self-reliance, will give a new and 
powerful incentive to the direction and de- 
velopement of mechanical genius, and 
which, while it will invite men to return to 
their former and more congenial occnpa- 
tions, will become a new source of waalth 
to the State, by fostering and encouraging 
the manufacture of those articles we now 
import, and for which many millions of 
dollars are annually sent away that should 
be retained among us. It is now generally 
conceded, too, that even at present prices 
a judicious combination of labor and cap- 
ital would in most cases enable us to com. 
pete successfully with Eastern manufac- 

It is our earnest hope that the influence 
incited by this and similar institutions will 
extend far beyond the passing moment of 
excitement, by turning our thoughts to the 
developement of those resources which a 
generous Providence has so bountifully 
bestowed upon our highly finvored land, 
and prove that although they are intended 
for our individual and personal benefiti we 
thoroughly appreciate the favor; and as 
a result, are desirous of improving these 
advantages for the present and future ben- 
efit of the masses, and of the State of our 




n.nm Amnsa 

Ilw cngnTiDg which we gire aboTe, 
boa an unfantrpe taken expreaslj for thi^ 
*«^ npnwoU & wire SuspensioD Flome, 
"toiled ID tha vicinity of Yonnff'B Hill. 
l^oU cmn^. 

Tie flume ia intended to convej the wa- 
in of Clew Cr«ek from the snmmit of oae 
UD to llMt of kDOther, acroiB a deep to- 
><». MDed, from soiae myEterioaB cauge, 
" Btudj Onlch." The Burrey w»a made 
I'M thu twelre moatha aj^o, by D, Scott, 
E«i^ who, by the way, has f^ined much 
npitation ia this bnncb of science. But, 
"ti^wndent of the great design, the mode 
" coMtrnctioB ia Temadably ingenions ; 
^ imt, which ia fifteen hondred feet in 
InRth, ia elevated to a height ol 206 feet 
« ih* air. A tower boilt from the bed of 
^ raiine nipporta the centre, while at 
inittrali of abont a hundred feet stand tall 

trees, the tops (if which being cut awayi 
cotitribnle malprially to the permanency of 
the etructnre. A rluater of small wires ara 
secured at tbeao points, from which ia sue> 
pended the bos, or flume. 

Thus, bj meana of scarcely any perceiT- 
able agency, an artificial channel is formed, 
through ulilcli from four lo five handrcd 
inches ofwaioria allowed to pas3 daily. 1» 
is, without (toulit, a highly creditable piece 
of work, and reflects much credit upon its 
enterprising; pcoptictors ; but like the ma- 
jority of newly tested projects, the origina- 
tors pay dearly for their experiment, while 
others, of inGnilcly less skill and couiage, 
reap the profile of the work. There are 
few experiments, of after consequence, 
which succeed well nl first, and no import- 
ant acquisition of knowledge baa ever been 
gained but at a great sncrifiee on the part 
of the discoTcrer. 

Works like this, presenting themselvea 
in every portion of the mining region of 
California, are the most striking evidencea 
of the e»pacity for adaptation ; and of 



which we are already sufficiently inclined 
to boast. 

Wordsworth has somewhere said that 
<' water is the spirit of the univeifise." If 
not 80, water may at least be said to be the 
spirit of all our enterprise. The entire 
slope of the Sierra Nevadas, from the sum- 
mit seaward, is pierced and traversed by ar- 
tificial veins, which bring prosperity and 
life to every hill and plain. Water is the 
lif^-blood of the mines. When its current 
18 diminished, or even delayed, every thing 
languishes — with its return, all things re- 
vive. Indeed, water has been so generally 
diffused, and so constantly employed, that 
it has been well said, '' it is used for every 
thing but drinking!" 

We all know that when the Roman mat- 
ron was asked for her jewels, she pointed 
to her children ; when we are asked for 
ours, we may reply, less classically, but 
with equal truth : *^ Behold our ditches V 
Never, since the Romah legionry shad, 
owed the earth with their eagles, in search 
of spoil — not even when Spain ravished 
the wealth of a world, or England devas- 
tated the Indies for its treasures — never 
has such a gorgeous treasury been opened 
to the astonished world. 

But theirs was the genius of war ; ours 
the conquests of peace. The music of our 
march is the revelry of the gushing stream, 
and the only chains we forge are those that 
bind the captive water. 

At a glance we see both the necessities 
and the advantages of application. The 
sheet of vapor which hangs in dreamy si- 
lence above the brow of the " Sierra," de- 
scends and gathers its misty mantle about 
the frail flower, which nods to the passing 
brook. As the morning sun melts the 
dewy tears, they fall into the stream and 
are borne along by the reckless current. 
On, on it glides, now struggling over rocks 
or craggy steeps, now dancing in the sun- 
light or kissing the weeping foliage which 
seeks to span the stream ; and now exulting 
in its libertv; when, lot the bearded miner 
issues from his rude hut, a&d with imple- 

ments in hand, forthwith proceeds to cham 
the trembling drops. And still it struggles, 
but too soon the fetters are secure, and 
though it shrinks, yet it is urged on to its 
debasing destiny. All day it labors, and 
again night approaches, but as the tiny 
globulet surveys itself, how sadly changed ! 
Its face discolored! the lustre of its eye is 
vanished I in disgust it turns away to rest, 
not on the fair face of the pale flower, 
which cast it on the pitiless world, but to 
lose its identity among swarthy compan- 
ions, in a neighboring pool. 

Of Young's Hill, the terminus of the en- 
terprise before described, but little may be 
said. It is a small village, of small impor- 
tance, located some two miles north of 
Camptonville, and quite remote from the 
stage-route, as, indeed, from any point of 

Mining is carried to a considerable ex- 
tent in this vicinity, an accurate and com- 
prehensive account of which branch of bu- 
siness will be reserved for those possessed 
of a more thoroughly practical knowledge 
or descriptive capacity. 

To Messrs. Spencer k Adkinson much 
credit is due for promptneess, energy and 
enterprise. The flume, or " sluice," con- 
structed by them, which carries the ** re- 
fuse dirt " from the whole hill, is not only 
of inestimable value to the miners, and 
thereby to every other interest, but also 
promises to be a lucrative investment to its 

The landscape views in this vicinity are, 
as in all portions of the State, both pictu- 
resque and grand. Truly " never need an 
American look beyond his own country for 
the sublime and beautiful in natural scene- 



There is a law — now almost forgotten — 
of no small importance tr) the human fam- 
ily; inasmuch as it makes everybody ai«d 
his neighbor very happy. It is this — '* As 
ye would that men should do unto jcu, do 
ye even so unto them.^' Now, gentle rea- 
der, what say you about giving it a trial. 




Thit beautifal Uke ig sitiuted ia & vkl- 
Icj of the Sierra Nevaas, at the eutem 
bMc of the oentral ridge, a few miles north 
of the DUD road of traTel to Carson Tal- 
lef ■ It liea at an elevation of some 6800 
feet above Ihe level of the sea, and aboat 
ISOO feet above Canon Yallej, from which 
it ii dtrided hy a monaUin ridge three to 
four miles across. 

The sontheni shores of this lake were 
eiplered dnriDg the State wagon-road sar- 
frj of 1855, and its extreme aoathem lat- 
itude detarmined at 38° 5T. The 120th 
mcridiso of west loDgilnde divides the lake 
pcU; equally, giving its wealem shore to 
CaliTomia and its eaiteTD to Utah. Its 
Dotthem extremity is only known by re- 
port, which ia still so contradictory that the 
■engtli of the take caonot be set down with 
soythiog like accnracy. It can hardly ex- 
ceed, bowerer, twenty miles in length by 
sfaont six in breadth ; notwithstandiDg, it 
Us been called forty, and even sixty miles 

The snTroaodiDg mountains rise from 
one to three, and, perhaps, in some cases, 
font thousand feet above the surface of the 
lake. They are principally composed of 
friable iriiite granite, water-worn to that 
degree that althoagh they are rongh, and 
often covered with rocks and boulders, yet 
they show no cliffs or precipices. Their 
bases, of granite sand, rise in majestic 
curves from the plain of the valley to their 
steeper flanks. Many of the smaller bills 
are but high heaps of boulders, the stony 
skeletons decaying in tilu. Half buried in 
their granite debrU. 

The shores of the lake, at least of its 
southern coast, are entirely formed of 
granite sand ; not a pebble is there to mar 
its perfect smoothness. 

A dense pine forest extends .from the 
waters' edge to the sonunits of the sur- 
rounding mountains, except in some points 
where a peak of more than ordinary eleva- 
tion rears its bald bead above the waving 
forest. An extensive satampy flat lies on 
its southern shore, through which the npper 
Tmckea slowly meanders, gathering ap, 



in its tortuous course, all the streams which 
flow from the south or south-east. The 
deep blue of the waters indicates a con- 
siderable depth to the lake. The water is 
perfectly fresh. The lake well stocked 
with salmon trout. It is resorted to at 
certain seasons by the neighboring Indians 
for fishing. 

Although lying so near the main road 


of travel; little has been known of this lake 
until quite a recent period. There is no 
doubt but that it is the lake of which the 
Indians informed Col. Fremont when en- 
camped at Pyramid Lake, at the mouth of 
the Salmon Trout, or Truckee river, and 
which he thu» relates, under date of Jan- 
uary 15, 1844 : "They made on the ground 
a drawing of the river, which they rppre- 
sen ted as issuing from another lake in the; 
mountains, three or four days distant, in a 
direction a little west of soutli ; beyond ' 
which t^y drew a mountain, and farther 
still two rivers, on one of which they told 
us that people like ourselves traveled.'* 
How clear does this description read to us,. ; 
now that we know the localities ! 

Afterwards, when crossing the moun- 
tains near Carson Pass, Col. Fremont 
caught sight of this lake, but deceived by 
the great altitude of the mountains to its 
east, and the apparent gap in the western 
ridge at the Johnson Pass, he laid it down 
as being on the California side of the 
mountains, at the head of the south fork of 
the American river. In the map attached 
to Col. Fremont's report, it is there called 
Mountain LakCj but in the general map of 
he explorations by Charles Preuss it is 
named Lake Bompland. In Wilkes' map 
and others, published about the period of 
the gold discovery, it bears the former 
name. When Col. Johnson laid out his 
road across the mountains, the lake was 
passed unnoticed except under the general 
term of Lake Valley. General Wynn's 
Indian expedition, or the emigrant relief ^ 
train, first named it Lake Bigler, afleronr 
late Governor. Under this name it was 
first depicted in iti transmonntain position 

in Eddy's State map, and thus the name 
has become established. 

There is no lake in California, which for 
beauty and variety of scenery, is to be com- 
pared to Bigler Lake ; but it is not its 
beauty of situation alone that will attract 
us there. A geological interest is fasten- 
ing uf)on it, for there we see what so many 
other of the great valleys of the Sierra 
once were. The little stream of the Upper 
Truckee, though but of yesterday, has yet 
carried down r\A sdndy deposits through 
ages sufficient to form the five miles of 
valley flats, from the foot of the Johnson 
Pass to the present margin of the lake* 
and Btill the work progresses. The shal- 
lows at the mouth of the river are stretch, 
ing across towards the first point on the 
eastern slope of the lake, and at the same 
time the water level of the lake is evidently 

The point of view from where our illus- 
tration is taken ia the summit of the gran- 
ite knob to the south of the lake, one of 
the triangulation points of our survey. The 
point at which the Upper Truckee dis. 
charges into the lake is indicated by the 
smoke of our camp fires. The first de- 
pression in the mountains to our right is 
the Daggett Pass to Carson Valley ; be- 
yond the next group of monntains lies the 
old pass of the Johnson wagon road to 
Eagle Valley. Nearly opposite, under a 
rocky point on the east shore of the lake, 
is the celebrated Indian cave, with its le- 
gendary romance. On the north rises the 
lofty mountain of Wassan peak. From the 
western side, the Tmckee river finds its 
outlet, but the exact position seems to be 
still a myth. The high peaks to the north- 
west, in the distance, are near the Truckee 

Bnt oar poor attempt of the pencil can 
give but a faint idea of the beauty of the 
spot ; we can only hope to recall to those, 
whose eye haa already beheld the scene, 
what xntist ever be, one of memory's most 
pleasixtg pietores; while in those who 
have not yet seen il we hope to induce a 



desire to viait one of California's noblest 
Lakes. G. H. G. 

Sacsahixto, AogOBt, 1857. 

A j^ntleman writing from Halley's Ranch 
sends us the following interesting descrip- 
doo of another of those beantifal moun- 
tain sheets of water : — 

** Ab I have never seen any account 
published of Salmon Lake, I have conclu- 
ded to give you a sketch of the locality and 
heaaty of the silvery waters and surround- 
ing scenery of this beautiful spot. 

** This lake is situated about forty miles 
north-east of the city of Nevada, between 
the heads of the south and middle forks of 
the Yuba river, but nearest to the souUi 
ibrk. Its waters fall into a stream flowing 
into Cadon Creek, about ten miles from 
the mouth of the latter stream. 

** This lake is about one mile in length, 
by half a mile in breadth. In many places 
it is from sixty to seventy feet in depth, at 
it4 lowest ebb ; which is in October : when 
shoot one hundred and fifly incnes of 
wster escape. 

"* On the north side of this lake rise pre- 
cipttoos and overhanging cliffs^ to the 
height of three hundred feet, in which 
there are many holes, or caves, entirelv in- 
accessible, except to wild fowl — of which 
there are many — that make their nests 
sod raise their young in them, and in the 
cracks of ^e rock. Upon the top of this 
stands a dense forest of spruce-nr trees. 
There is a cove in this pictnresqne wood- 
land from which snow can be obtained at 
soy time in the year. Cinnamon and 
/rozly bears are numerous here. 

** On the east and west ends of the lake 
there are beautiful valleys well irrigated 
vith springs, and covered with grass in abim- 
danoe ; and upon which many thousands 
of wild ducks and geese feed everv season. 

**At the sonth side of the lake, through a 
>kmgh about three hundred yards from it, 
li found its outlet ; and where it makes 
lotoadeep caSon. 

** This whole piece of nature^s mighty and 
beaotiful work can easily be transformed 
firom a picturesque lake to a valualtU bbs- 
iXTOia — withont marring its loveliness— 
iij cnttiDg a tunnel three hundred yards in 
.«ngth« at a cost not exceeding ten thou- 
sand dollars, and from which a ditch could 
be constructed that would give an abun- 
dance of water to the dry mining campe 
below. L. A. G." 

We wonder that these large and natural 
reservoirs, which are capable of giving 
water to every mining district of the State, 
in very great abundance, should remain 
untouched, when miners and mining, tra- 
ders and trading, and every description of 
business is almost at a stand, compar- 
atively, for the want of water. We are 
led to exclaim, with regret and surprise, in 
the language of on6 of old, "How long, ye 
simple ones, wiU ye love your simplicity ! — 
and fools [!] hate knowledge V 


BY W. H. D. 

" CalironiU, of all plMei ia the world, n««di » bold and Indo* 
pendeot expression ot opinion I " 


Could I disclose the mysterim of my life, 

From earliest childhood to the present time, 

Its jo^s and sorrows, bopes^ fears and dark strife, 

Its neijghts of bliss, its agonies sublime 

In their intensity ; •— all feelings rife, 

From deeds of goodness or escapes from crime, 

It sorelv would, if told in proper diction. 

Prove that the truth is stranger than all fiction. 


But memory fails me, and 'tis wrong to tear 
The veil from that, which should not all be known ; 
All hearts have secrets which they would not share 
With their best friend ; thoughts which are never 
To the cold world, and therefore I forbear, [shown 
To rend my heart, and have its fragments tnrown, 
Like pearls to swine, for there are found but few, 
That can appreciate the good or true. 


And if I write, 'tis but to make the hour, 
With its dark clouds, more quicklv pass away; 
I know that I have not the god-like power 
To seize the lightninrs of the soul, and play 
Their vivid flashes oVsr the page ; a dower, 
Seldom bequeathed to mortals in our day ; 
A few fond hearts ma^r glory in my strain. 
And for their sake, I sing my sad refrain. 


But what shall be the burden of mv song? 
A solemn homily, or thrilling tale 7 
To lash the vices of the worldly throng, 
Or satirize the follies that prevail 7 
Or in eternal hopes and aims prolong 
My visions far b«yond this earthly vale, 
Or hate, ambition, hope, joy, sorrow, love, 
And all we know below, or dream above 7 


On these and other subjects I may dwell. 
But with no method shall I here arrange 
These desultory thou^ts— perhaps 'tis wellj 
I then can take up objects new or strange, 
Or momentary passions, which to quell, 
Might my poor Muse's fancies oft estrange, 
From her nrst love, the moment's inspiration, 
Whieb afc the best may be a vain oblation. 



Dear reader, nnderttand me, I have not 

oigfai to take in which there's mach obstmction, 
And I perchance maj find it is my lot 
To have a genius, from which small reduction 
Would make it vanish like the viewless air, 
Or be like ** Bamum," the hambugf, no-wbere. 


Have patience with me, and I'll soon commence 

To give you what at least may be called rh^-me, 

Or work my passions to a pitch intense, 

And soar to heights that may be styled sublime. 

My Muse shall not alight upon the fence, 

Luce politicians who bide out their time, 

And never move a muscle either way, 

Till they find out which side gives largest pay. 


Abpve all other traits, 1 like decision 
In character, which must proceed from thought, 
That lays its laws down with a strict precision ; 
The man with iron will^ quite soon is taught, 
To cut his way with such a keen incision, 
l*hroaf[[h all the toils with which his life is fraught, 
That difficulties vanish from before him, 
And all admire, while some will quite adore him. 


I still am writing on in rigmarole ; 

An easy style, in which plain thoughts may flow. 

Kind reader, do not think I have no soul. 

Because my Pegasus remains below 

The heavens above, where myriad worlds now roll 

Through space whose awful mysteries none can 

Unless they're gifted with clairvoyant vision. 
And then, they tell you all with due precision. 


At last my Peg^asus begins to soar 

Into the aread infinities above, 

Where suns and stars in glorious anthems pour 

The eternal music and eternal love 

Of Boundless Wisdom, which may yet restore 

Our souls to bliss — I will not farther shove 

My metaphor into that future state, 

Where no man knoweth what may be his fate. 


Except disciples of that sect new-fang^led, 
Yclept the spiritual, whose visions bright. 
Have all the half-demented fools entangled 
Into their mystic doctrines, whose best light 
Beams from closed eyes, and all sound reasoning 
Who ever saw a more degrading sight, [strangled. 
As well might turtles, under mud and slime, 
See Heaven's bright glories, or find truths sublime. 


And then to hear their wondrous revelations. 
Of Heaven, made up of circles by the score; 
Where souls attain to certain elevations. 
And rise in bliss some several feet or more. 
What brilliant genius planned these new creations? 
To save a world that never knew before. 
The only true and certain way to save, 
Was to show up the world beyond the grave. 


I oft have heard their witless nonsense rattle 
Upon the table, all direct from heaven ; 
Who ever heard a more demented prattle 
Than gifted sages to this sect have given ? 
Through circles who have no more brains than cat- 
That with a goad before the plow are driven, [lie, 
To think the souls of all the good and great 
Knew more on earth than in their heavenly slate. 


No wonder that its neophytes go crazy ; 
None but the bad at heart, or weak in head. 
Would seek to penetrate through visions hazy, 
The eternal secrets of the sacred dead ; 
Go sea;'ch the scriptures, if you'r not too lazy, 
And find the truth of what 1 here have said ; 
Draw from that fountain of eternal truth. 
Waters that quench the thirst in age or 3'onth. 


This sect has surely some most cunning leaders, 
Who always know the worth of fools with money, 
And some who seem to be the special pleaders 
For free-love doctrines : and witn words of booejr, 
They praise the lust or those unlawful breeders, 
And make the lives all very fair and sunny, 
Of men and women who in good society 
Should only have an iU-fame notoriety. 


I should not waste my words upon this theme; 
, A subject that with tongs I ougnt to handle, 
So foul and filthy, that, like pitch, I seem 
To be defiled from such a puolic scandal. 
What I anert, I know is not a dream,— 
For I have seen it both by sun and candle; 
'* 'Tis true, 'tis pity, and pity His, 'tis true ;" 
My pen has pierced the beastly monster through. 


And now my Pegrasus I must dismount, 
If I would keep his laurels all unfaded. 
Upon his speed stnd bottom I can count, 
But now the steed and rider both are jaded; 
How far he's climbed up the Parnassian moont, 
Others must say ; —I hope he's not degraded 
His noble reputation and fair fame. 
Under a rider with an unknown name. 


I hope to mount him at some future day, 
Against outsiders, or a match 'gainst time, 
The terms, in sporting parlance, " play or pay;" 
Fll urge him, then, into a speed sublime, 
1 hope the public will be there to play^ 
And bet against him, for it is no crime. 
Like other poets, I am short of cash. 
And hope to win it by the spur and lash. 


I've rode out nineteen stanzas at this heat. 
And occupied myself just half a day 
Upon the course, and it would be a treat, 
Now to refresh myself with some delay; 
My mind needs rest in a retired retreat, 
And I have nothing more just now to say, 
Except I hope to meet you soon again, 
Riding my regasus witn a sharp pen. 





have a day of it alone in the free woods. 
Bell; who had not spent five years of her 
life in the wilds of Iowa in vain, declared 
she was just the best guide in the world, 
*^ Mary Kirke, we're lost !^' A strange and would take all possible care of my 
whispering echo from the hill side answered | more inexperienced self. So arming cur- 
back, '*Lo8t! lostr* and from the clear ! selves each with a formidable revolver, and 
little stream which glided along at our \ a satchel containing a lunch, we gaily 
ftret seemed to come a murmering '* Lost ! waved adieu to the anxious inmates of the 


ranch, and rode gallantly away on our 
We looked at each other— Bell and I — reckless, adventure-seeking expedition. 

fur several moments afler this announce- i The morning was delightfully passed. 

meat without speaking. The unwelcqme | We shouted, sang, leaped our horses over 

r mrictioa had been, for the last hour, , rocks and crags, explored deep ravines, 

forcing itself upon our minds, yet neither , stopped for a moment to gather some rare 

could gather courage to speak the startling i wild flowera« and then sped on again. Oh! 

trathy but gaily chatting, endeavoring to I it was glorious, dashing away, away over 

conceal the anxiety each felt, we still kept hill and vale, as light and free as air ; it 

00, and on, vainly searching for the path was lifcj in its highest enjoyment. 

from which we had sirayed, until the sun i After we had partaken of our noonday 

had almost gone down behind the hills, i meal in a beautiful little valley, drank from 

sad the great pine trees began to throw 

dark shadows on the ground — aye, into 

our hearts too. Yet we spoke no word of 

fear until Bell, suddenly reining in her 

bane, hastily, and with pale lips, ex- 

daimed, '' Mary Kirke, we're lost I" 
Yea, we were lost among the wild hills 

of California ! The fact could no longer 

be denied, unpleasant as it was. 
Bell Grant and I had been for the last 

three weeks at the ranch of our friend G. 

E., which was situated in one of the wildest, 

most picturesque parts of , but we 

had become tired of the monotony of that 
pleaaant, bat lonely home ; tired of looking 
at the calm, amiable face of Mrs. B. ; tired 
of Uatening to the voice of Mr. B., merry 
M it was, and we determined to have a 
change in the dull routine of every day 

Eariy that morning, notwithstanding the 
rftmoostraDcea of our friends, we mounted 
oar horses and set off alone — not, as old 
•tones sav, '^ to seek our fortunes'' — but 
solely in search of adventure. We would 
oot listen to the earnest request of our host 

the cool mountain stream, and indulged in 
not a few bright day-dreams in that seclu- 
ded retreat, we began to think of retracing 
our steps homeward. Accordingly we re- 
mounted our horses, and took, as we sup- 
posed, the same path by which we had de- 
scended into the valley. We rode on care- 
lessly for some time, until, failing to per- 
ceive any objects which had served as 
land-marks in oor way hither, a sort of 
vague uneasiness sprang up within our 
minds, which increased the farther we 
proceeded, but which we endeavored care- 
fully to conceal, until, suddenly emerging 
from the thick growth of pines, we found 
ourselves upon the banks of a narrow 
stream, with a steep hill rising abruptly on 
the opposite side. Behind us lay the rap- 
idly darkening forest, into which we peered 
doubtfully, fearing to trust ourselves within 
its shadowy depths ; before us rose the 
rugged hill-side j on either hand were piled 
huge rocks, and on all sides we seemed 
shut completely in, without the possibility 
of egresH. Bell was a stout-hearted girl, 
but braver hearts than hers might have 
been appalled at the situation in which we 

to take little yee-to, an Indian boy, for a 

10, indeed ! not we. We would i found ourselves ; alone, in one of the wild- 



est spots imaginable, with night tapidly 
approaching ; how far from home, or any 
human habitation we knew not, but not a 
trace of civilization could we discover. 
Regrets for our rashness in venturing out 
alone were of no avail. Long we stood 
there, eagerly straining our eyes and ears 
to catch, if possible, some sight or sound 
to guide us, but in vain. The silence was 
oppressive, painful, and we longed for 
something to break the deep stillness. It 
came, startling, strange, unearthly ! It was 
a woman's voice, that thrilled our hearts 
and rang out clear and distinct upon the 
evening air, in one wild burst of song. 

" Oh ! where shall rest be founds 
Rest for the weary soul — 
'Twere vain the ocean's depths to sound, 
Or pierce to either pole.'' 

We listened with hushed breath, and 
wondering minds, until the music died away 
on the air. The voice was one of exquis- 
ite sweetness ; the words were spoken with 
such intense earnestness, they seemed to 
come quivering, trembling, from a weary, 
aching heart, longing for rest ; rest, such 
as earth can never give. But what could 
it mean, that voice, in such a strange, 
wild place, and it seemed so near too — at 
our very side. We listened again, but all 
was still. '' Let us go,'' said Bell, '' and 
solve the mystery." Accordingly, without 
another word, we proceeded in the direc- 
tion of the sound. After following the lit- 
tle stream a short distance, it suddenly 
took a course to the right, and there, almost 
hidden by overhanging trees and shrub- 
bery, was a little cabin, which one might 
easily have passed unnoticed, it nestled 
there so like a bird's nest among the 
thickly clustering vines and shrubs. The 
window and door were open ; we dismount- 
ed and silently entered the cabin. Deep 
silence reigned within, and, but for a lan- 
guid unclosing of the eyes of the occupant 
of the room as we entered, we might have 
supposed her dead. She was very pale 
and emaciated, but traces of great beauty 
yet lingered upon the wan face ; and every 

feature was delicately formed and beaa- 

She was sitting in a large arm-chair, — 
the only article of luxury in the room, — 
and as we approached, she seemed hardly 
conscious of our presence, merely unclos- 
ing her eye for a n^oment. then sank back 
languidly upon the cushions. At this mo- 
ment a sweet childish voice sobbed out. 
*' Mamma, mamma ; " and we beheld for 
the first time, a little figure crouched on 
the floor, half buried in the dress of the 
invalid. That voice seemed to rouse the 
mother ; and passing her hand caressingly 
over the head of the child, she burst into 
tears. Then her lips moved in prayer, and 
she exclaimed, turning to us : *' Oh 1 I 
knew God would not forsake me, or leave 
my darling alone. 1 know not who yon 
are, but you are women, and have women^A 
hearts. Surely God has sent you to me 
in this, my last hour, that I may give into 
'your keeping my poor little Nannie. Say, 
will you accept the trust? Will you take 
the lone orphan — the child of one yon 
know not — to your bosom ? Oh ! I know 
you will I I know you will I I see it in 
those kind, pitying looks ; I see it in those 
tears I Grod will reward you ; and if a 
mother's prayer can avail on high, you 
shall be blessed indeed ! ^' 

We each took one of the pale hands of 

the sufiferer, and promised before Heaven 

that the stranger's child should be as onr 

own. Oh I the glorious light that came 

over that mother's face as she heard those 

words spoken I Earth, and all earthly 

cares now seemed forever left behind: 

peaceful, calm, happy, while the voice 

faintly murmured, ^* Ready, waiting: 

' Cease, fond nature, cease thy strife, 
Let me langoish into life.' " 

Her hand fell feebly upon her breast* 
her breath came slowly, softly through the 
parted lips ; upon that broad, white fore- 
head the dews of death were gathering, but 
the eye burned with an unearthly brillian- 
cy, and a bright halo of glory encircled 
that head. From the Heaven above, which 



thftt spirit was even now entering, came a 
brightness and rested npon the fkce of that 
djing mother. Dying ? ah, no ! that was 
aot dtaik *f that triumphant chorus which 
butt from those pale lips, startling us with 
ifei jojons earnestness, *' I know that my 
BedeeaMr liTeth," was higher than death 
ss it echoed again, ''I know that my Re- 
deemer liTeth/' Angels waiting near 
teemed to ware their bright wings, and 
with one accord join in the song, " I know 
tbat mj Redeemer Mreth." She heard it; 
ier eye beheld the radiant band, and from 
the pearly gates of that hearen, to us, who 
•ere beholding the scene, so fiir away, but 
to her so near, she saw the fiice of that Sav- 
ior who said that death to her was no more. 
One more burst of the jubilant song, 
"* Thanks be unto him who giveth us the 
ridory,*' and then came a smile so full of 
Heaven, so happy, that we knew she had 
rsagii( it from the very presence of God. 
The ««aiy one had found rest! SofUy, 
toftly passed that spirit ; silently and tear- 
*4iriy we stood around that lifeless clay. 
%ief we had none ; we were listening for 
the welooming song which greeted the 
Sed spirit as it entered its eternal home ; 
in vain we listened ; she alone who had 
the cold river, heard it — she who 

— those small, delicate hands had never 
been accustomed to labor — and the great 
delicacy and refinement of form and fea- 
ture, bespoke gentle birth ; yet why was she 
here ? Truly our day had found a strange 

Little Nannie had fallen asleep on the 
floor, with her apron drawn tightly over 
her head. She was sleeping the sweet 
sleep of innocent childhood, all uncon- 
scious that when she awoke there would be 
no gentle mother's hand to rest upon her 
head, no mother's voice to speak loving 
words to her. 

We leant over the young sleeper, 
smoothed out the tangled ringlets, kissed 
the pure childish forehead, and again re- 
newed our vows to cherish the orphaned 
stranger thus unexpectedly thrown upon 
our care. We felt that we had taken upon 
ourselves a great responsibility, and knew 
that from this moment we must act in 
reference to the strange vow we had re- 
cently taken. 

We thought of the anxiety of our friends 
at the rancho, but concluded that the wiser 
and safer plan was to remain' where we 
were for the night, rather than venture out 
again. Accordingly we began to make ar- 
rangements to that-feffect, but were startled 
lad been so safely borne over its dark wa- by hearing heavy footsteps approaching 
tos — and we remembered that we were the cabin, and before we could secure the 
^H wanderers upon the shores of time : 

*im we wept 

Long we stood gazing upon the face of 

cbe dead. 80 absorbed had we been in the 

ttaoge events of the last hour, that we 

feed fergolton by what chance we had been 

vitnessea of that scene. When we again 

voned ourselves, the twilight had quite 

^ded away, and the full moon was pouring 

« gloriooa flood of light through the open 

door, and vioe-wreathed window. We 

•poke of onr singnhur situation, of the mys- 

»tfy whidi was thrown around the death 

*e had witnessed. Who was she, who had 

» gladly kid down the burden of life ? Why 

^i she ahmein that wild place? That 

*e hsd been tenderly reared, we knew 


door, it was hastily thrown open, and an 
old man stood upon the threshold. He 
wore a rough hunting dress, in his hand he 
carried a fowling-piece, and over his shoul- 
der were thrown several wild birds and 
other game. For a moment he stood re- 
garding us vnth blank amazement; then 
his eye wandered round the room, and fell 
upon the stiff, straight figure on the bed. 
With a deep groan he rushed to the bed- 
side, lifted the covering from the fade of 
the dead, and sank, in an agony of weep- 
ing, to the floor. " Gone ! gone I and I, 
her only friend, not here to receive her 
last breath I Oh I why did I leave you 
even for an hour ? Yet, little did I think, 
this morning, that yon were so near hom^. 


mncmNGHS^ CALIfOftNtA MAdA2StK£ 

Yea, home ; for if there is a Heaven above 
this troublesome world, thou art there. 
Heart-broken on earth, thou art now at 
rest in Heaven I Thy Savior did not de- 
ceive thee ; His promises did not betray 1 
Poor child I poor child 1" 

'* Bat," he added, springing to his feet, 
** is there no hand of justice to avenge thy 
death ? Is there no God of vengeance, as 
well as of love and pity ? Will liot the 
wrongs of the innocent be speedily re- 

. '^ Say/' said the old man, taming quick- 
ly to us, " did she not corse him with her 
dying breath, ? Did she not curse him who 
deserted her and that precious innocent, 
sleeping yonder? — but no, she would not 
do that. Oh ! she was an angel ; from an 
in&nt, when I carried her in my arms -^ 
ah I it was not long ago — I knew she was 
not one of earth. Yes, she was an angel, 
even when that devil won her to himself. 
Curses on — but no, not here by Jur side ; 
she died without pronouncing the curse — 
I will not speak it here. Her hwbandl 
oh I the mating of light with darkness I 
one of God's own angels with the veriest 
black-hearted fiend that ever cursed the 
earth with his presence. Nannie, my poor 
little Nannie, left worse than orphaned, 
worse than fatherless r' 

By degrees the old man became calmer, 
and we told him of her peaceful departure, 
and of our adoption of the lone child. ^* God 
never forsakes his own," devoutly ex- 
claimed he ; " 'twas He who led you here. 
I know/' continued he, " into whose hands 
my darling's child has fallen. I know you 
will be fiftithful to that solemn trust. Thank 
God ! the birdling has some one beside old 
Bruce to provide for her ; his hands are 
feeble, and soon the grave will close over 
them, but I can die willingly, now my 
Nannie is cared for." 

We were astonished beyond measure at 
finding ourselves recognized by the stran- 
ger, and eagerly sought to know ^ere he 
had ever met us before. 

" Just over at the R ranch/' he re- 

plied, '^I have often seen you, though 
doubtless vou never noticed the old man 
who brought game to Mr. R — ." 

'< Just over at Mr. R — 's ranch ?" ssked 
Bell and I, both in one breath. 

" Yes," he replied, '< it is not more than 
five or six miles firom here, over the moan- 
tains, but by taking the road around, yoa 
became bewildered ; indeed, it is almost a 
miracle how you ever reached here — bat 
no, it is not wonderful, God led yon here.'' 

We soon arranged that the old man 
should take one of our horses and proceed 
by the shortest route to R — 's ranch to re- 
lieve the anxiety of our friends, as also to 
procure assistance to pay the last duties to 
the dead. 

In less than two hours we had the satis- 
faction of grasping the hand of our good 
friend R — j who had been out searching 
for us nearly all the afternoon, but had re- 
turned to the ranch afler aunset for as- 
sistance to renew the search ; and when 
old Bruce — the only name he had ever 
given — arrived, the party was about set- 
ting off. Great was the surprise of Mr. 
R — to learn our singular adventure. He 
had oflen seen old Bruce, and knew where 
his cabin stood, but supposed he lived en- 
tirely alone, and could scarcely believe 
that the lady and child had been there 
some months. The old man would reveal 
nothing of the past history of his charge ; 
her name, even, or in what relation he 
stood to her he would not tell, but pre- 
served a profound silence, merely answe^ 
ing a few necessary questions. Daring 
that whole night he sat by the bedside, bis 
hands folded, his head drooping upon his 
breast, with such an expression of hopeless 
grief resting on his furrowed face as I bad 
never seen before. 

On the following day the stranger was 
laid in her lonely forest grave. The beau- 
tiful smile still rested upon her pale lips, 
and the whole face seemed more like the 
face of an angel than that of a creature of 
clay, so soon to return to its native dost. 
Old Bruce stood by, silent and stem in hi« 



t, while litU« Nannie dung to his neck, 
looking wonderingly into the graTe, and 
cried to take her mamma back again. 
Dtath, to that yonng sinless heart, was a 
j^reat m^stety, as yet nnsolred. 

Tearfnllj we left that burial place, bat 
m we walked away, a soft whispering in 
tke air seemed breathing of ** rest, rest ;" 
tlie flowers, too, bowed their bright heads 
over the newly made grave, and smiled 
tKat no mde breath, no harsh sound, could 
enter thai cold retreat, to waken the sleep- 
er -» she was at rest. 

We spoke of taking Nannie home with 
as, bnt her aged protector said, '' Not yet ; 
I caaaoi give her up now ; in a few days 
I wiO come to yon, and then — and then 
— Nannie is yonrs.^' He would not listen 
to our entreaties to accompany us to the 
mack, so we relnctantly bade him adieu, 
sad rwtomed to make preparations for re- 
ceiving the little orphan. In a few weeks 
BcD and I were to return to our home in 
tke city, and Nannie was to become an 
cqial charge to each. How many strange 
nrmiMs we had concerning her I Whose 
dttld were we thus taking to our hearts ? 
Tain surmises ; vain imaginings I The 
vas a mystery still. But were we 
to remain in doubt ? 

Little Nannie never came to us. 

On the third day after the burial of her 
■other, atie died; and with pale hands 
wiMj Mded above her sinless heart, the 
«ift brown curls resting lovingly on her 
pale cheek, with wild flowers strewn around 
ihe little form, we saw her laid beside her 
■other in Ihe shade of those solemn old 
fares! trees. She too was at rest, even be- 
Ibre knowing life's weariness ; she rested 
even before the fierce batUe of life began 
and it waa better thus. 

Old Bruce looked the very picture of 
desolate grief. His form was bowed lower, 
hie taee was paler and more deeply fur- 
rawed, and his voice trembled as he kept 
nettering to himself, ** yes, the last ! the 
lastf We conld gain no reply to any 
imsti e n bnt these sad words, ''the last! 

the last 1" His mind seemed wandering ; 
grief had well nigh destroyed his reason. 

Vainly did Mr. B — endeavor to per- 
suade the lone old man to make his house 
his home ; he only shook his head sadly, 
and murmered that ceaseless " last I last !'' 

Once more Bell and I stood within the 
cabin. Every thing was the same as when 
we last visited it, but the aged occupant 
was gone, whither none could (ell. Weeks 
and months have passed away since that 
week's singular events, and the mystery 
surrounding the characters who acted such 
important parts in those scenes, remains 
unsolved. Vainly has conjecture pictured, 
or fancy sought to throw some light upon 
the subject ; but doubtless it will ever re- 
main enshrouded in darkness, like hun- 
dreds of similar pages in the history of this 
beautiful country, this land of romance and 

Once since, I have stood at those two 
lonely graves. The tall trees still wave 
their branches above them ; the soft sun* 
light still glimmers through the shade, and 
plays upon the turf; the air is pure and 
fragrant as when those two sleepers first 
lay down to their rest ; yet there comes no 
answer to my earnest wish to pierce 
through the dark mist which surrounded 
that sad mother ; to know whose was the 
hand to break the tender chords of that 
gentle heart ; to know why the blight had 
fallen so early on that young and guileless 
spirit But I can only drop a tear over 
the stranger's lonely grave, and sigh 

— • " to Ti«w th« tblmni to HMTtn*! OWS lOUlf* Bid* 
FadlBC thus mAj 'nwth thsbUi^torionow'f eartbt 

To MO tho brlgbtiMM sad tho btoom of tbo humsa 

And know that loch thingi mut bo, tUl Ioto lod 

death aro paft" 


Home I — the centre of delight,-— 
Be thou beacon to my sight I 
Through the voyage of this life, 
Through its joys, and through its strife, — 
" Had I dove's wings to reach thy nest, 
How soon I'd fiy and be at rest." ▼. o. 






They soon descended to the parlor, where 
they found the door open, and Kate's 
shawl and bonnet on the sofa ; throwing 
them on, she took BenUy's arm, and they 
walked on for some time, nntil, meeting a 
cabman, Bently engaged him to take 
ihem to the mansion. On arriving there, 
he bid Kate good night, and returned to 

the city. 

Every thing was still at the mansion; 
all were at rest but the faithful Dinah, who 
waited for the return of her young mis- 
tress with the keys of her apartments. 

^^Good Lord, missus! what has hap- 
pened? You are pale as a ghost, you 



"Nothing, Dinah, only I am fatigued, 
and am a little unwell." 

'^ There was sich a queer-looking feUow 
here, inquiring after you, said he wanted 
to see you, that I thought maybe that you 
had heard bad news from master." 

^* No, Dinah, I have not seen any one. 
Did he tell you his business 7" 

'* No, missus, he said he would come in 
the morning." 

" Well, let me go to bed, Dinah, for I 
need rest sadly.'' Seated in her own room, 
Kate thought of the dangers she had just 
passed ; oh, how deserted she felt, alone 
in that once happv mansion I Overcome 
%vith gloomy thoughts, accusing herself of 
all the misery of its inmates, half distracted 
with the prospects of the future, she pressed 
her hand upon her throbbing temples, and 
remembering her dying mother's injunc- 
tions, she took courage and sought com- 
fort of Him who alone could comfort in 
such a trying hour ; her prayer was heard 
and her peace was restorea. 

The clock had struck nine when Kate 
awoke ; she felt weak, but calm. She 
arose and dressed, and descended to break- 
fast. While trying to eat a few morsels of 
toast, the bell rang and Dinah hastened to 
see who was there. 

"Has your young mistress returned?" 
paid Jack. 

'' Yes," answered Dinah. 

''Tell her that I wish to speak to her." 

"Missus, that queer-looking chap has 
come that was here last night." 

'* Show him in the parlor, I will see him 
soon ;" and finishing her breakfast, Kate 
went immediately to ascertain the olject 

of his call, hopinff to hear news of Charles 
or her father. Jack touched bis hat and 
bowed in his sailor style. 

** You wished to see me, sir," said Kate. 

** Yes, madam, I do indeed ; and I hope, 
sweet lady — for I never saw a sweeter, 
not even a ship in full rig, saijing on a 
smooth sea, never looked handsomer — " 

'^ Is this all you have to say, sir ?" said 
Kate, indignantly. 

'< Do not be angrv at Jack, for I am a 
friend to the Colonel, and would do you a 
favor if I knew how to tell vou and shun 
the breakers. You see. Jack is not in the 
habit of speaking to such beautiful — " 

<< Enough, sir, if you have anything to 
communicate to me, do it, and retire." 

" Well, don't think that Jack is an ene- 
my. You see, the Colonel did me a great 
kindness for telling him good neirs about 
his son ; he gave me a nice little sum of 
money — ^" 

'^ Can't you tell me what you want with- 
out all this?" asked Kate. 

*'Yes, lady, in a minute I will get at 
what I am driving hard for ; you see, the 
Colonel made me a better man by his 

Srayer and money, and now I've come to 
o you a kindness to pay him. Now you 
have it, my lady." 

" Well, what is the kindness ?" 

" Well, you see, MissAdaline is your en- 
emy. She was going to marry Master 
Charles, and she has made pubuc all he 
told her about his marria^ with you, and 
that Bently is in love with you and that 
you were not displeased. I saw you riding 
with him last night, and I know what gos- 
sip will make of it, and Mr. Charles will 
call him to account when he gets home. 
You see, I was in hopes you would escape 
her malice, and I was coming to caution 
you last night when I returned. I was 
sorry to see you riding with Bently, and 
Dinah told me you hsA gone to spend an 
evening at Mrs. Milford's." 

*^ Would to God you had come before 1 
went! But I have done no intentional 
wrong ; I thought I was going to Mrs. Biil* 
ford's, but I was deceived and taken to 
Miss Adaline's, for what purpose I am oot 
altogether satisfied." 

''before three davs she will send vile re- 
ports abroad, but if you are innocent, all 
will come out well.'' 

*' God grant it may,'| sobbed Kate, com- 
pletely overwhelmed with grief. 

** Do not weep so, my yoong lady," B«i» 
Jack, while the tears flowed freely from his 
own eyes in sympathy with the beautiful 
childlike figure before him. <' Can I serve 



TOQ, my jonng ladj* in any way ? let me 
knov, and it will be done. If you wiili me 
for any serricei yon will fina me at the 
Saiion' Hornet on Fifth street : so good 

Kate sat stupefied with distress. '* When, 
oh ! when shall I be extricated from this 
unmitigated sorrow ? Great and merciful 
Father help me in this hour of trouble.'' 
Her trouble, was too much for her health, 
and she was barely able to reach her cham- 
ber, which she never left till after two 
weeks of distressing illness. 

Learing Kate in the care of Dr. Toby, 
we will now take a look after Charles and 
his father. 

After leaving home, the Colonel's mind 
waa occupied with one idea, one object — 
hia son. His health had suffered much 
from grief at the loss of his wife and broth- 
er, but much more at the thought of the 
obstacles in the way of the happiness of 
his children. On arriving at Memphis, 
Tennessee, he determined to proceed at all 
hazaids in a private conveyance, and trav- 
el only as he could endure it. He had 
made several days' joumev in Mississippi, 
and was within a few days travel of Jack- 
too, when, being tired and wishing to stop 
over night, he drove up to a miserable 
country tavern, that was more like a cow- 
>hcd than a house of entertainment. 

** landlord," he inquired, '' how far is it 
to the next house ?" 

** Ten miles, through them 'are woods." 

*' Ten miles 1 can yon keen me to-night ? 
1 am tired and hungry, ana it looks like 

" Wellf guess we can. We will give you 
the beet we can scrape up." 

** Very well," said the Colonel, and leav- 
ing hit carriage, he made his way into the 
hoQse. He looked around in vain for a 
comfortable seat, but the only thing that 
preaented itself was an old split-bottom 
chair, that had been occupied by Jim, a 
tall Misaissippian, who had been entertain- 
ing the com|Mny with a bear and alligator 
story, which he had been engaged in last 
winter, in Texas. The ro6m was full of 
listenerB to his wonderful stories ; all were 
more or leas under the influence of liquor. 

** Come and treat, old fellow," said Jim, 
*^ I've told ;fams enough for a good horn, 
don't yon think so, old noss ?" 

^ Pardon me, sir, but I do not wish to 
be addressed in this familiar manner by a 
stranger, and I will not treat a man who 
tnsuHa me," said the Colonel, coloring with 

"Yon doD^t know who you are fooling 

with, old fellow," said Jim, bristling up; 
" if you give me any more of your slang, 
I'll treat you as I did that darned Yankee 
Allen, that I thrashed, and he is not yet 
out of bed, and it's more than three weeks 
ago that he dared to refuse to treat; so if 
you don't treat I'll smash that old month 
of yours." 

" Make up your mind, sir, I have given 
you my decision alreadv." 

Jim made for the Colonel with clenched 
fist, and struck him a severe blow on the 
head. The Colonel drew his revolver, 
and in an instant, and before Jim had 
time to make a second blow, blew his 
head to atoms ; then gave himself up to 
the authorities, giring bail for his ap- 
pearance at Court, to be held in Jackson. 
The Colonel reached Jackson, and bv in- 
quiry found that Charles would be tnere 
the next day ; he took rooms and awaited 
his return. Having received a bad eye 
frofai the blow that Jim gave him, he called 
for a doctor to relieve him of his distress, 
and told him of his adventure with Jim. 

*' He is the same bully that almost killed 
a fellow by the name of Allen, who is now 
at this hotel, and is so badly injured that 
it is doubtful whether he ever recovers." 

'< Where is Allen from?" asked the Co- 

" I think he was from Michigan, and I 
think he lived in Charleston, South Caroli* 
na, for several years ] but I believe he is 
by birth a down-eastcr." 

'* I would like to see him, doctor, for I 
think I know him." 

'^ I am now going to dress his wounds, 
and if you wish you can accompany me." 

^^ They immediately went to Allen's 
room ; the doctor went in and told Allen 
that a Mr.McClnre wished to see him. Al- 
len goflped for breath, and in a faint voice 
said, *' Well, I suppose I must see him." 

The Colonel opened the door softly and 
recognized Edward Allen, but how changed! 
He held out his emaciated hand, which 
was finally taken by the Colonel. Allen 
was overcome with surprise at the friendly 
feelings of the aristocratic old Colonel. 

^' I do not deserve such kindness from 
you, Col. McClure." 

^* I know to what you allude, but you are 
weak now from excitement ; say no more 
on that subject until you are better able to 
bear it, but be assured, sir, you will find a 
friend in the old Colonel while you are in 
need. I would only ask you if you have 
ever seen Charles since he has been here." 

'^ No, I have never seen him since I left 
Michigan that fatal evening." 



** He will be here to-morrow, and we will 
Oftll again/' And bidding Allen good 
eyening, he retired to rest, and on the fol- 
lowing day, Charles, hearing of his father, 
hastened to see him. 

The Colonel embraced his son, and they 
gaaedupon each other with saddened looks. 
Oh! how changed was his father in so 
short a time ; the death of his mother and 
uncle all came home to Chturles in one 
short moment. The realization never 
forced itself npon him with such over- 
whelming sorrow before. His aged father, 
how changed! he looked twenty years old- 
er than when he lefl. Words were denied 
them ; they could only look on each other 
with feelings of love and sorrow. 

*' Mv son/- at length sobbed the Colonel, 
** thank God my eyes behold you again \ I 
have come in search of you. I could not 
endure the loneliness of the old mansion 
after my. sad bereavement." 

''Are you alone, father? Where is that 
unfortunate girl V* 

**She remained at the mansion, as she 
thought her presence would afiford you no 

"She was very considerate," added 
Charles, with some bitterness. 

" Did you hear, Charles, what a scrape I 
have fallen into since I came out here ?" 

" Yes, father, but there is no danger but 
that you will be acquitted." 

'' I have no fears of that, m^ son, but I 
regret the necessity of taking his miserable 
li£ ; but, by-the-by, Charles, Edward Al- 
len was so injured by this ruffian, that Dr. 
Potts says he cannot recover. He is now 
lying at this hotel." 

<< Is that so, father ?" 

" Yes, my son, for I saw him last even- 

'* He deserves to die ; his sickness only 
prevents me from taking his worthless life. 

'^ Nay, my son, be not too bitter." 

<< He has caused me more distress than 
all the world besides ; he is too contempti- 
ble even for hatred." 

'^ Perhaps you will pity him, Charles, 
when you see him ; I think he sincerely re- 
pents that one sin of his life." 

They were interrupted in their conversa- 
tion by the entrance of Dr. Potts. The 
Colonel introduced his son. The doctor 
stated that the object of bis call on the Co- 
lonel was a request from Mr. Allen to see 
the Colonel and his son, as he thought he 
might expire before the next morning. 
They went immediately to Allen^s room, 
and Charles lost his resentment in pity as 
he approached Allen, and took his hand. 

'* Can you forgive me, Charles ? I have 
injured you in one way, but I have saved 
you in another. Adaline was not worthy 
of you ; she was not a virtuous woman, and 
I knew it, but still I loved her and would 
have married her; butas soon as her shame 
was covered up she refused to marry me, 
and prevailed on her father to turn me 
fromnis office. I knew that Adaline was 
a mother, for my sister had and still has 
her child. But enough of^4liis; there is 
one being that I would like to hear say 
she forgives me before I die ; that innocent 
girl who redeemed the handkerchief with 
you, Charles." 

<< Was she aware of your schemes, Al- 
len ?** asked Charles, with evident concern. 

'' No, Charles, she knew. nothing about 
it ; it was I who did it all, to avenge my 
faithless Adaline ; and you may thank God 
that the opportunity offered itself, as 1 
would have poisonea you that evening, for 
I had the fatal dose in my pocket." 

They all sat stupefied in astonishment at 
this disclosure. 

'* Do you forgive me, Charles?" asked 
Allen, falling back on his pillow, faint and 

''Yes, I forgive you, Allen, die in 

Allen drew his hand to his lips and 
faintly said, "Tell Kate to forgive me;" 
and filing back, he expired. 

They looked sadly on the body of the 
unfortunate Allen. 

" God grant him peace," said the Colonel, 
" for he mis, I believe, brought a blessing to 
my house in saving Charles from an alliance 
with that woman who caused him to end his 
days an exile from home.'' And leaving 
the room and poor Allen, they retired to 
their own apartments to consult a lawyer 
regarding their impending suit. The Co- 
lonel felt very little anxiety relative to his 
acquittal, as he did it in self-defence, bat 
he must await a trial, which would cause a 
detention of ten days. 

'' Charles, will you write to poor Kate, 
as I have written but once since I left, 
and she will be very uneasy about us ; do 
not tell her the cause of our detention, as 
she has enough to bear already." 

" I will write immediately." And Uking 
up a pen, he wrote her the following lioes: 

Mrs. Kate McClure : 
Madam — Af\er a tedious joumoy, my fathw 
met me in Jackson. We are tolerably well, And 
we shall be detained here for two weeks. Yoa 
may look for us home in about a month. _ 


After penning the above business line^ 




lie ibUed tbem in »n envQlope and ad* 
druied them to <* Mas. Kate McGlurb.'' 

** A cold letter to a yonng wife/' thought 
Cbariee. '^I little thought that I should 
write thne to a wife of mine, but how can 
I write otherwise to her after what has 
pasted between us ? She knows that I love 
aaotheTy bat I wish I had pursued a differ- 
eot cooiae ; I think it would have been 
better. At my fiither and mother and un- 
cle William loved her, there must be some- 
thing good in her ; 1 fear I have done her 
gjvat injustice." While these painful 
thoughte were passing in the mind of 
Cbanee, he scarcely realized that a change 
kad taken place in his feelings towards his 
veong wife, from resentment to sympathy, 
since he heard Allen's confession. That 
Kate was innocent of being an accomplice 
of Allen's, he felt was certain, and that he 
had wronged her. He remembered the 
catting notes sent her, and tears filled his 
eyes. *' I wilt be just to her," he solilo- 
quized : " if I cannot love her I will treat 
ber wito respect — I will not add to the 
cup of gall she has already drank. I shall 
be very glad to return as soon as father's 
trial 18 over." 

Time passed heavily to our heroes, but 
the day at length arrived, and before a 
crowdeia coort-house the Colonel was hon- 
orably aoqnitted. Proof positive was given 
that it was done in self-defence ; all seemed 
pleased at the verdict of the jury but Jim's 
two brothers, who seemed rather to dispute 
the justice of the Court ; but no fears were 
entertained, and the next morning after 
the trial and acquittal, the Colonel and 
Charles started for home. They concluded 
to dispense with the previous conveyance, 
and to take the stage. The second aay af- 
ter leaTiog Jackson, two men came riding 
tp to tbe stage and called to the driver to 
stop, and he, apprehending nothing, drew 
tp his lines and the coach stopped, when 
they ioqnired for a bundle that they said 
had been left inside, the erening liefbre. 
One of the passengers seeing the oescribed 
pareel, ooened the door, when one of the 
ncn firea a pistol at the Colonel, and im- 
Bcdiately fled. The ball took effect in the 
CokmeTs side, and falling over on his son's 
bosom, he expired without speaking. The 
passengers were all filled with consterna- 
tion at the daring feat achieved by these 

" DriTO on fast, for Qod's sake I" said 
Charles, supporting his father in bis arms, 
while a red stream was fast ebbing from 
his wooad, and lying in pools in the bottom 
of the coaeh. The whip eracked over the 

horses, and soon brought our 
travelers to the Tillage. The sad news 
caused considerable confusion and excite- 

Charles' feelings can be better imagined 
than described. The weather being very 
warm, he was compelled to have his be- 
loved father buried in a strange Tillage, in 
a strange church-yard. 

After the solemn rites of the funeral ser- 
vice were concluded, Charles prosecuted 
his journey alone, downcast and broken* 
hearted, so oppressed with sorrow that his 
solemn countenance testified plainer than 
words could have spoken: ''Ah! little 
did I think that I snould return to my 
home to see my mother and my uncle no 
more ; and have to bury my dear father in 
the swamps of Mississippi." In this mel- 
ancholy state of mind he reached Charles- 
ton. The first object that met him was 
Adaline, seated in the parlor. She ap- 
proached Charles, offering him her sym- 
pathy in tender terms, affecting the deep- 
est feeling. Charles looked at her, won- 
dering whether Allen's story was true or 
false. Could such a loTely looking and 
seemingly affectionate creature be so Tile 
as she had been represented ? He could 
not believe it. Adaline's quick apprehen- 
sion disclosed to her the state of Charles' 
mind relative to her, and, pleased with 
her success, she determined to retain her 
hold on him, if possible. 

*' Dear Charles," she began, '' I suppose 
you have heard that your forced wite has 
found a lover in the person of Mr. Bently. 
I am sorry to tell you this, with all your 
trouble and bereavement ;" and she forced 
the tears to &11 on her beautiful white 

*' Adaline," said Charles, '' I certainly 
appreciate your interest in me, but it 
grieves me exceedingly that my situation 
as a married man precludes my expressing 
what I feel ; all I can say is, God bless 
and protect yon from undeserved scandal f 
and, pressing her hand, he withdrew, and 
proceeded with his baggage to the old man- 

It was late in the afiemoon when he ar- 
rived at his old and once happy home } 
how changed now I All was lost to him ; 
but still he had a trial to endure ; he must 
live in the presence of one whom he did 
not loTc, and who did not love him. His 
sensitive nature was completely overcome 
at the prospects of his unhappy destiny ; 
he felt he had one choice ; duty, stem duty, 
only lay before him. With ttiese painful 
thoughts he seated himself in the lonely 



manBioDy nnobserred by any of its inmates. 
The parlor door being open, Charles cast 
his eyes around the room ; there stood the 
rich old arm chair which his dear departed 
mother once occupied : unable to control 
his feelings he threw himself into it, and 
covered his fiace with his hands, while the 
tears dropped from his eyes upon his bo- 
som. He scarcely knew how long he had 
remained in this situation, when, hearing 
some one approach, he raised his eyes and 
saw his old nurse Dinah coming towards 

" Is that you, massa Charles ?" she asked 
in breathless agitation, " and- where is old 
massa, the Colonel ?" 

'^ You will see him no more Dinah, he 
was assassinated in the stage ; but, for God 
sake, do not ask me any more questions. 
I feel incapable of answering them." 

Old Dinah burst into tears and sobbed 
aloud, " Poor old massa — ^it will kill poor 

''Where is she, Dinah ? Tell her that 
I have come, and tell her of father's death, 
for I am inadequate to the task." 

^* 0, massa Charles, poor young missus 
has been very sick, and I am afraid to tell 
her, she is so weak." 

" Well, defer it then, Dinah." 

'' Wont you go up and see her, massa 
Charles ?" 

'' I suppose it is my duty. Tell her of 
my arrival, and that X will see her." 

Calling all his courage to his aid, he as- 
cended to see Kate : she was reclining on 
a sofa ; her pale cheek, her dark brown 
curls in chilaish profusion hung over her 
high and polished forehead. She was sadly 
altered, but more beautiful than she ever 
appeared to him before : he could not help 
thinking her a beautiful being in spite of 
his resolution to acknowledge her only a6 
Mrs. McClure ; not as his wife, to rest her 
head on his bosom. No, she must be 
content with the name he approached her 
with. She arose timidly, biaoing him wel- 
come, with considerable embarrasment de- 
picted on her sweet face. Charles noticed 
It, and he was at a loss to define its mean- 
ing ; perhaps she was afraid that he had 
heard of her attachment to Bently ; how- 
ever, he coldly told her of his return, why 
he was detained in Jackson, and the cause 
of his father being murdered. This was 
too much for Kate. She fell insensible at 
his feet, with the words, *^ 0, my good 
father, is he no more 7 Shall I see him 
no more 1^ Charles saw the sincerity of 
her SXiet She lav some time before he 
and Dinah could bring her back to life; 

but at length the deep sobs escaped 
heaving bosom. She aid not seem 
tice anything for several days. G 
saw her every day, and was glad to s 
improving ; he expressed himself to 
effect, and a deep blush covered the 
cheek of Kate. 

** You are very kind, sir, to take 
interest in me," said Kate, '* me who 
caused you such unmitigated sorrow.*' 

Charles turned and left the rooou 
hide the tears that would force their 
welcome presence to his eyes. 

The next time that Charles met Kati 
looked melancholy, and she attributs 
to his displeasure to her. She remaii 
silent except when Charles addressed 1^ 
[uandtided next month.] i 


When erring mortals' first disgrace ' 

Had lost the Eden to them given, 
And the^ upon earth's rugged face 

A sinning, shameful pair, were driven j 
And care seemed gathering like a night 

Whose dreary gloom foretells no morrcy 
A harp, struck by a being bright. 

Sang in a strain which eased their sorro' 

*' Poor mortals, though this sin of yours 

Has showered down the wrath of Heaven, 
Though forth from Eden's shady bowern 

To painful duties you are driven — 
Let not the thought of care and strife 

Invest your gentle breasts with terror. 
There's many a pleasure in the life 

So dearly purchased by your error. 

'* Though doomed unceasingly to toil, 
Know labor hath a power to gladden :- 

And hope should cheer you with her smile 
When care your weary souls would saddc 

Then, mortals, use your powers aright ; 
Though mingled with a few distresses. 

Tour lotH have hours of joy as bright 
. As Paradise itself posseHcs." 

Mankind went forth to war in life 

With lighter hearts and footsteps finiier ; 
And when their souls grew dark with strii 

The same harp lent its cheering murmui 
They toil'd hard on for years, and when 

Their race had spread beyond the oceai 
The angel gave the harp to men 

To soothe and soften their emotions. 

J. T. G. 

A polite gentleman of this city begs h 
own pardon every time he tumbles dowi 
and thanks himself politely every time 1 
gets up again I 

The best capital that a young man ci 
start with in life is industry, with go< 
sense, courage, and the fear of God. Th< 
are better than cash, credit, or friends. 





! dan • 



cc J CHAPTER n. 

'^^^'' lAMA K JULY, 1851 — rra ARCHITECTCBE — 

j^/,/)n oar arrival we found the population 
V ,^^ly emplojed in celebrating one of their 
^', ' Numerable dias dt Jiesia, The streets 
^ iiented a very gay appearance. The 
J. Jives, all in their gala-dresses, were going 
sL. -# ronnda of the numerous gaudily-orna- 
V^jnted altars which had been erected 
^ ' rouj;hoat the town ; and mingled with 
croiA were numbers of Americans in 
fry variety of California emigrant cos- 
kie. The scene was further enlivened 
^ I the music, or rather the noise, of fifes, 
;^ s. kms, and fiddles, with singing and chant- 
fii' I inside the churches, together with 
r^'r |tibs and crackers, the firing of cannon, 
3 c: id the continual ringing of bells. 
r'''*rhetown is built on a small promon- 
t-. |y, and is protected, on the two sides 
'""* ting the sea, by batteries, aud, on the 
td side, by a high wall and a moat. A 
'^ • Ige portion of the town, however, lies on 
^' ' ^ onUide of this. 

'^^l Most of the houses are built of wood, 
^^ ID Stories high, painted with bright col- 
. ' H, and with a corridor and verandah on 

ti upper story ; but the best houses are 
stone, or sun-dried bricks plastered over 
. . $d painted. 

',r Tbe churches are all of the same style 
,;. f architecture which prevails throughout 
,-. (anish America. They appeared to be 
y<> I a very neglected state, bushes, and even 
►«s, growing out of the .crevices of the 
looes. The towers and pinnacles are or- 

Cmeoted with a profusion of pearl-oyster 
:11s, which, shining brightly in the sun, 
I ■ Iroduce a very curious effect. 

<in the altars is a great display of gold 

■ kid silver ornaments and images ; but the 

'■tenors, in other respects, arc quite in 

keping with the dilapidated, uncared-for 

tpMsrance of the outside of the buildings. 

The natives are white, black, and every 

;. k^ermediate shade of color, being a mix- 

' ^ of Spanish, Negro, and Indian blood. 

. Ji-inj of the women are very handsome, 

icd on Sundays and holidays they dress 

*^7 showily, mostly in white dresses, with 

^ri^hvcolon^ ribbons, red or yellow slip- 

i,P^ without stockings, flowers in their 

' *^r, and round their necks, gold chains, 



frequently composed of coins of various 
sizes linked together. They have a fash- 
ion of making their hair useful as well as 
ornamental, and it is not unusual to see 
the ends of three or four half-smoked ci- 
gars sticking out from the folds of their 
hair at the back of the head ; for though 
they smoke a great deal, they never seem 
to finish a cigar at one smoking. It is 
amusing to watch the old women going to 
church. They come up smoking vigor- 
ously, with a cigar in full blast, but, when 
they get near the door they reverse it, put- 
ting the lighted end into their mouth, and 
in this way they take half-a-dozen stiff 
pulls at it, which seems to have the effect 
of putting it out. They then stow away 
the stump in some of the recesses of their 
'^ back hair," to be smoked out on a future 

The native population of Panama is 
about eight thousand, but at this time there 
was also a floating population of Amer- 
icans, varying from two to three thousand, 
all on their way to California : some being 
detained for two or three months waiting 
for a steamer to come round the Horn, 
some waiting for sailing vessels, while 
others, more fortunate, found the steamer, 
for which they had tickets, ready for them 
on their arrival. Passengers returning 
from San Francisco did not remain any 
time in Panama, but went right on across 
the Isthmus to Chagres. 

Most of the principal houses in the town 
had been converted into hotels, which were 
kept by Americans, and bore, upon large 
signs, the favorite hotel names of the 
United States. There was also numbers 
of large American stores or shops, of va- 
rious descriptions, equally obtruding upon 
the attention of the public by the extent of 
their English signs, while, by a few lines 
of bad Spanish scrawled on a piece of 
paper at tne side of the door, the poor na- 
tives were informed, as a matter of cour- 
tesy, that they also might enter in and 
buy, if they had the wherewithal to pay. 
Here and there, indeed, some native, with 
more enterprise than his neighbors, inti- 
mated to the public — that is to say, to the 
Americans — in a very modest sign, and in 
very bad English, that he had something 
or other to sell ; but his energy was aU 
theoretical, for on going into his store you 
would find him half asleep in his ham- 
mock, out of which he would not rouse 
himself if he could possibly avoid it. Yon 
were welcome to buy as much as you 

E leased ; but he seemed to tiiink it very 
ard that yon could not do so without 



giving him at the same time the trouble of 

Living in Panama was pretty hard. The 
hotels were all crammed full ; the accom- 
modation they afforded was somewhat in 
the same style as at Gorgona, and they 
were consequently not very inviting places. 
Those who did not live in hotels had sleep- 
ing-quarters in private houses, and resort- 
ed to the restaurants for their meals, 
which was a much more comfortable mode 
of life. 

Ham, beans, chickens, e^gs, and rice, 
were the principal articles of food. The 
beef was dreadfully tough, stringy, and 
tasteless, and was hardly ever eaten by 
the Americans* as it was generally found 
to be very unwholesome. 

There was here at this time a great deal 
of sickness, and absolute misery, among 
the Americans. Diarrhoea and fever were 
the prevalent diseases. The deaths were 
very numerous, but were frequently either 
the result of the imprudence of the patient 
himself, or of the total indifference as to 
his fate on the part of his ueighbors, and 
the consequent want of any care or attend- 
ance whatever. The heartless selfishness 
one saw and heard of was truly disgusting. 
The principle of "every man for himself" 
was most strictly folloi^ed out, and a sick 
man seemed to be looked upon as a thing 
to be avoided, as a hindrance to one's own 
individual progress. 

There was an hospital attended by Amer- 
ican physicians, and supported to a great 
extent by Californian generosity ; but it 
was quite incapable of accommodating all 
the sick ; and many a poor fellow, having 
exhausted his funds auring his long de- 
tention here, found, when he fell sick, that 
in parting with his money he had lost the 
only friend he had, and was allowed to 
die, as little cared for as if he had been a 
dog. Many killed themselves by excessive 
drinking of the wretched liquor which was 
sold under the name of brandy, and others, 
by eating ravenously of fruit, green or 
ripe, at all hours of the day, or by living, 
for the sake of economy, on gingerbread 
and spruce-beer. 

The sickness was no doubt much in- 
creased by the outrageously filthy state of 
the town. There seemed to be absolutely 
no arrangement for cleanliness whatever, 
and the heavy rains which fell, and washed 
down the streets, were all that saved the 
town from being swallowed up in the ac- 
cumulation of its own corruption. 

As may be supposed, such a large and 
motley population of foreigners, confined 

in such a place as Panama, without any 
occupation, were not remarkably quiet or 
orderly. Gambling, drinking, and cock- 
fighting were the principal amusementsf ; 
and drunken rows and fights, in which pis- 
tols and knives were freely used, were of 
freouent occurrence. 

Ihe 4th of Julv was celebrated bv the 
Americans iti great style. The proceed- 
ings wero conducted as is customary on 
such occasions in the United States. A 
procession was formed, which, headed by 
a number of fidd^e8, drums, bugles, and 
other instruments, all playing '^Yankee 
Doodle " in a very free and independent 
manner, marched to the place of celebra- 
tion, a circular canvass structure, where a 
circus company had been giving perform- 
ances. When all were assembled, the 
Declaration of Independence was read, 
and the orator of the day made a flaming 
speech on the subject of George III. and 
the Universal Yankee Nation. A gentle- 
man then got up, and, speaking in Span- 
ish, explained to the native portion of the 
assembly what all the row was about; 
after which the meeting dispersed, and the 
further celebl*ation of the day was contin- 
ued at the bars of the different hotels. 

I met with an accident here which laid 
me up for several weeks. I suffered a 
good deal, and passed a most weary time. 
All the books I could get hold of did not 
last me more than a few days, and I had 
then no other pastime than to watch the 
humming-birds buzzing about the fiowers 
which grew around my window. 

As soon as I was able to walk, I took 
passage in a barque about to sail for San 
Francisco. She carried about forty pas- 
sengers ; and as she had ample cabin ac- 
commodations, we were so far comfortable 
enough. The company was, as might be 
expected, very miscellaneous. Some were 
respectable men, and others were precious 
vagabonds. When we had been out but a 
few days, a fever broke out on board, 
which was not, however, of a very serioos 
character. I got a touch of it, and could 
have cured myself very easily, but there 
was a man on board who passed for a doc- 
tor, having shipped as such : he had been 
physicing the others, and I reluctantly 
consented to allow him to doctor me also. 
He began by giving me some horrible 
emetic, which, however, had no effect ; bo 
he continued to repeat it, dose after dose, 
each dose half a tumbleiful, with still no 
effect, till, at last, he had given me so much 
of it, that he began to be alarmed for the 
consequences. I was a little alarmed 



mjMlf, And pattiDg my finger down my 
thiMt, I Tery soon relieved myself of all 
Us ▼illADons compounds. I think I fainted 
after it. I know I felt as if I was going 
to £unt, and shortly afterwards was sen- 
sible of a lapse of time which I could not 
■coonnt for ] but on inquiring of some of 
BY fellow-passengers, I could find no one 
w^o had so fiir interested himself on my 
acooont as to be able to give me any in- 
fonnation on the subject. 

I took my own case in hand after that, 
and very soon got rid of the fever, although 
the emetic treatment had so used me up 
that for a fortnight I was hardly able to 
stand. We afterwards discovered that this 
man was only now making his d^but as a 
physician. He had graduated, however, 
as a shoemaker, a farmer, and I don't 
know what else besides ; latterlv he had 
practiBed as a horse-dealer, and 1 have no 
doubt it was some horse-medicine which 
he administered to me bo freely. 

We bad only two deaths on board, and 
in joaiite to the doctor, I must say he was 
not considered to have been the cause of 
either of them. One case was that of a 
Tonni^ man, who, while the doctor was 
treating him for fever, was at the same 
time privately treating himself to large 
doeea» taken frequently, of bad brandy, of 
whidi he had an ample stock stowed awav 
under hia bed. About a day and a half 
settled him. The other was a much more 
melancholy case. He was a young Swede 
— cacli a delicate, effeminate fellow that 
he seemed quite out of place among the 
roagh and noisy characters who formed the 
rest of the party. A few days before we 
left Panama, a steamer had arrived from 
San Francisco with a great many cases of 
cholera on board. Numerous deaths had 
occurred in Panama, and considerable 
alarm prevailed there in consequence. 
The Swede was attacked with fever like 
the rest of us, but he had no force in him, 
either mental or bodily, to bear up against 
tickneaa under such circumstances; and 
the fear of cholera had taken such posses- 
sioQ of him, that he insisted upon it that 
he had chdera, and that he would die of 
it that night. His lamentations were most 
^leooa, but all attempts to reassure him 
wefe in vain. He very soon became de- 
lirioQS, and died raving before morning. 
None of us were doctors enough to know 
exactly what he died of, but the general 
belief was that he frightened himself to 
death. The church service was read over 
him hf the supercargo, many of the pas- 
ntxely leaving their oaids to be 

present at the ceremony, and as soon as 
he was launched over the side, resuming 
their game where they had been interrupt 
ed; and this, moreover, was on Sunday 
morning. In future the captain prohibited 
all card-playing on Sundays, but through- 
out the voyage nearly one half of the pas- 
sengers spent the whole day, and half the 
night, in playing the favorite game of 
" Poker," which is sometbiDg like Brag, 
and at which they cheated each other in 
the most barefaced mauuer, so causing 
perpetual quarrels, which, however, nevei* 
ended in a fight— for the reason, as it 
seemed to me, that as every one wore his 
bowie-knife, the prospect of getting his op- 
ponent's knife between bis ribs deterred 
each man from drawing his own, or offer- 
ing any violence whatever. 

The poor Swede had no friends on 
board ; nobody knew who he was. where 
he came from, or anything at all about 
him ; and so his effects were, a few days 
after his death, sold at auction by order of 
the captain, one of the passengers, who 
had been an auctioneer in the States, offici- 
ating on the occasion. 

Great rascalities were frequently prac- 
tised- at this time by those engaged in con- 
veying passengers, in sailing vessels, from 
Panama to San Francisco. There were 
such numbers of men waiting anxiously in 
Panama to take the first opportunity, that 
offered, of reaching California, that there 
was no difficulty in filling any old tub of 
a ship with passengers ; and, when onoe 
men arrived in San Francisco, they were 

generally too much occupied in making 
oUars, to give any trouble on account of 
the treatment they had received on the 

Many vessels were consequently de- 
spatched with a load of passengers, most 
shamefully ill supplied with provisiona, 
even what they had being of the most infe- 
rior quality ; and it often happened that 
they had to touch in distress at the inter- 
meaiate ports for the ordinary necessaries 
of life. 

We very soon fouud that our ship was 
no exception. For the first few days we 
fared pretty well, but, by degrees, one ar- 
ticle after another became used up ; and 
by the time we had been out a fortnight 
we had absolutely nothing to eat ana 
drink, but salt pork, musty flour, and bad 
coffee — no mustard, vinegar, sugar, pep- 
per, or anything of the sort, to render suoi 
food at all palatable. It may be imagined 
how delightful it was, in recovering from 
fever, w&n one naturally haa a craving 



for something good to eat, to have no 
greater delicacy in the way of nourish- 
ment, than gniel made of mnsty tionr, au 

There was great indignation among the 
passengers. A lot of California emigrants 
are not a crowd to be trifled with, and the 
idea of pitching the supercargo overboard 
was quite seriously entertained ; but, for- 
tunately for himself, he was a very plausi- 
ble man, and succeeded in talking them 
into the belief that he was not to blatne. 

We had been out about six weeks, when 
we sighted a ship, many miles off, going 
the same way as ourselves, and the cap- 
tain determined to board her, and en- 
deavor to get some of the articles of which 
we were so much in need. There was 
great excitement among the passengers ; 
all wanted to accompany the captain in 
his boat, but, to avoid making invidious 
distinctions, he refused to take any one 
unless he would pull an oar. I was one 
of four who volunteered to do so, and we 
left the ship amid clamorous injunctions 
not to forget sugar, beef, molasses, vin- 
egar, and so on — ^whatever each man mest 
longed for. We had four or five French- 1 
men on board, who earnestly entreated me 
to get them even one bottle of oil. 

We had a long pull, as the stranger was 
in no hurry to heave-to for us ; and on 
coming up to her, we found her to be a 
Scotch barque, bound also for San Fran- 
cisco, without passengers, but very nearly 
as badly off as ourselves. She could not 
spare us anything at all, but the captain 
gave us an invitation to dinner, which we 
accepted with the greatest pleasure. It 
was Sunday, and so the dinner was of 
course the best they could get up. It 
only consisted of fresh pork (the remains 
of their last pig), and duff*, but with mus- 
tard to the pork, and sugar to the duff, it 
seemed to us a most sumptuous banquet ; 
and, not having the immediate prospect of 
such another for some time to come, we 
made the most of the present opportunity. 
In fact, we cleared the table. I don't 
know what the Scotch skipper thought of 
us, but if he really could have spared us 
anything, the ravenous way in which we 
demolished his dinner would surely have 
softened his heart. 

On arriving again alongside our own 
ship, with the boat empty as when we left 
her, we were greeted by a row of very long 
faces looking down on us over the side ; 
not a word was said, because they had 
watched us with the glass leaving the other 
▼esse!, and had seen that nothing wu 

handed into the boat ; and when we de- 
scribed the splendid dinner we had just 
eaten, the faces lengthened so much, and 
assumed such a very wistful expression, 
that it seemed a wanton piece of cmeltv 
to have mentioned the circumstance at all. 

The time passed pleasantly enough ; all 
were disposed to be cheerful, and amongst 
so many men there are always some who 
afford amusement for the rest. Many 
found constant occupation in trading off 
their coats, hats, boots, trunks, or anything 
they possessed. I think scarcely any one 
went ashore in San Francisco with a single 
article of clothing which he possessed in 
Panama : and there was hardly an article 
of any man's wardrobe, which, by the time 
our voyage was over, had not at one time 
been the property of every other man on 
board the ship. 

We had one cantankerous old English- 
man on board, who used to roll out, most 
volubly, good round English oaths, greatly 
to the amusement of some of the American 
passengers, ibr the English style of cursing 
and swearing is very different from that 
which prevails in the States. This old 
fellow was made a butt for all manner of 
practical jokes. He had a way of going 
to sleep during the day in all sorts of 
places ) and when the dinner-bell rang, he 
would find himself tied hand and foot. 
They sewed up the sleeves of his coat, and 
then bet him long odds he could not put it 
on, and take it off again, within a minute. 
They made up cigars for him with some 
powder in the inside ; and in fact the jokes 
played off upon him were endless, the great 
fun being, apparently, to hear him swear, 
which he did most heartily. He always 
fancied himself ill, and said that quinine 
was the only thing that would save him ; 
but the quinine, like everything else on 
board, was all used up. However, one 
man put up some papers of flour and salt, 
and gave them to him as quinine, saying 
he had just found them in looking over his 
trunk. Constant inquiries were then made 
after the old man's health, when he de- 
clared the quinine was doing him a world 
of good, and that his appetite was mnch 

He was so much teased at last that he 
used to go about with a naked bowie-knife 
in his hand, with which he threatened to 
do awful things to whoever interfered with 
him. But even this did not secure him 
much peace, and he was such a dreadfully 
crabbed old rascal, that I thought the stir- 
ring-up he got was quite necessary to keep 
him sweet. 



After ft wretchedly long jmssaee, during 
which we ezperienced notning but calms, 
light winds, mnd heavy contrary gales, we 
entered the Gk>1den Gates of San Fran- 
eiico harbor with the first and only fair 
wind we were favored with, and came to 
anchor before the city about eight o'clock 
in the evening. 



The entrance to San Francisco harbor 
is between prectpitoas rocky headlands 
iboQt a mile apart, and which have re- 
ceired the name of the Golden Gates. The 
barber itself is a lar^ sheet of water, 
twelve miles across at its widest point, and 
a teoffth forty or fifty miles. 

Bemre the discovery of toM in the 
coootry, it consisted merely of a few small 
boues occupied by native Galifomians, 
and one or two foreign merchants engaged 
is the export of hides and horns. The 
ktrbor was also a favorite tratering*place 
fir whalers and men-of-war, cruising in 
that part of the world. 

At the time of our arrival in 1851, 
kvdly a vestige remained of the original 
^^. Some were mere tents, with per- 
iapa s wooden front sufficiently strong to 
npport the sign of the occupant ; some 
nre composed of sheets of zinc on a 
vDoden framework ; there were numbers 
of corrupted iron houses, the most un- 
^Mj tmnga possible ; also dingy-looking 
Cbioese houses, and occasicHially some sub- 
^lial brick buildings ; but the great ma- 
j<ritT were nondescript, shapeless, patch- 
vork concerns, in the fabrication of which, 
■heet-iroD, wood, zinc, and canvass, seemed 
v> hare been employed indiscriminately ; 
*^ here and there, in the middle of a 
'ow of such houses, appeared the hulk of 
a ihip, which had been hauled up, and 
M wrved SH a warehouse, the cabins 
beifiv fitted up as offices, or sometimes 
converted into a boarding-house. 

The hills roce so abruptly from the shore 
tW there was not room for the rapid ex- 
tension of the city, and as sites were more 
^Qsble, as they were nearer the shipping, 
f^fim growth of the city was out into the 
yv. Already houses had been built out 
on piles for nearly halfa-mile beyond the 
<>ririti&l high-water mark ; and it «-as thus 
'•h&t ships, having been hauled up and 
baiit in, came to occupy a position so com- 
pt^eh out of their element. At the pres- 

ent day the %hole of the business pari of 
the citv of San Frandsoo stands on solid 
grouna, where a few years ago large ships 
lay at anchor; and "what was then hi^h- 
water mark is now more than a mile in- 

The principal street of the town was 
about three-quarters of a mile long, and in 
it were most of the bankers' offices, the 
principal stores, some of the best restau- 
rants, and numerous drinking and gam- 
bling saloons. 

In the Plaza, a large open square, was 
the only remaining house of the San Fran- 
cisco of other days — a small cottage built 
of sun-dried bricks. Two sides of the 
Plaza were composed of the most impo- 
sing-looking houses in the city, some of 
which were of brick several stories hi^h ; 
others, though of wood, were larf^e budd- 
ings with handsome fronts, in imitation of 
stone, and nearly every one of them was 
a gambling-house. 

Scattered over the hills overhanging the 
town, apoarently at random, but all on 
specifiea lots, on streets which as yet were 
only defined by rude fences, were habita- 
tions of various descriptions, handsome 
wooden houses of three or four stories, neat 
little cottages, iron houses, and tents innu- 

Rents were exorbitantly high, and ser- 
vants were hardly to be had for money ; 
housekeeping was consequently only un- 
dertaken by those who aid not fear the 
expense, and who were so fortunate as to 
have their families with them. The pop- 
ulation, however, consisted chiefly of single 
men, and the usual style of living was to 
have some sort of room to sleep in, and to 
board at a restaurant. But even a room 
to oneself was an expensive luxury, and 
it was more usual for men to sleep in their 
stores or offices. As for a bed no one 
was particular about that ; a shake-down 
on a table, or on the floor, was as common 
as anything else, and sheets were a luxury 
but little thought of. Every man was his 
own servant, and his own porter besides. 
It was nothing unusual to see a respecta- 
ble old gentleman, perhaps some old pa- 
terfamilias, who at home would have been 
horrified at the idea of doing such a thing, 
open his store in the morning himself, take 
a broom and sweep it out, and then pro- 
ceed to blacken his boots. 

The boot-blacking trade, however, was 
one which sprung up and flourished rap- 
idly. It was monopolised by Frenchmen, 
and was principally conducted in the Plaza, 
on the long row of stipe in front of the 



gambliDgf sftloons. At first tbe accommo- 
datioa afforded was not very great. One 
had to stand npon one foot and place the 
other on a little box, while a Frenchman, 
standing a few steps below, operated upon 
it. Presently arm-chairs were introduced, 
and, the boot-blacks working in partner- 
ship, time was economised by both boots 
being polished simultaneously. It was a 
curious sight to see thirty or forty men 
sitting in a row in the most public part of 
the city having their boots blacked, while 
as many more stood waiting for their turn. 
The next improvement was being accom- 
modated with the morning papers while 
undergoing the operation ; and finally, the 
boot-blacking fraternity, keeping pace with 
the progressive spirit of the age, opened 
saloons furnished with rows of easy-chairs 
on a raised platform, in which the patients 
sat and reaa the news, or admired them- 
selves in the mirror on the opposite wall. 

In 1851, however, things had not at- 
tained such a pitch of refinement as to 
render the appearance of a man's boots a 
matter of the slightest consequence. 

As far as mere eating and drinking 
went, living was good enough. The mar- 
ket was well supplied with every descrip- 
tion of game — venison, elk, antelope, 
grizzly bear, and an infinite variety of 
wild-fowl. The harbor abounded with fish, 
and the Sacramento river was full of splen- 
did salmon, equal in flavor to those of the 
Scottish rivers, though in appearance not 
quite such a highly-finished fish, being 
rather clumsy about the tail. 

Vegetables were not so plentifal. Po- 
tatoes and onions, as fine as any in the 
world, were the great stand-by. Other 
vegetables, though scarce, were produced 
in equal perfection, and upon a gigantic 
scale. A beetroot weighing a hundred 
pounds, and that lookedlike the trunk of 
a tree, was not thought a ver^' remarkable 

The wild geese and ducks were ex- 
tremely numerous all round the shores of 
the bay, and many men, chiefly English 
and French, who would have scorned the 
idea of selling their game at home, here 
turned their sporting abilities to good ac- 
count, and made their guns a source of 
handsome profit. A Frenchman with 
whom I was acquainted killed fifteen hun- 
dred dollars' worth of game in two weeks. 

San Francisco exhibited an immense 
amount of vitality compressed into a small 
compass, and a degree of earnestness was 
observable in every action of a man's daily 
life. People liTed more there in a week 

than they would in a year in most other 

In the course of a month, or a year, in 
San Francisco, there was more hard work 
done, more speculative schemes were con- 
ceived and executed, more money was 
made and lost, there was more buying and 
selling, more sudden changes of fortune, 
more eating and drinking, more smoking;, 
swearing, gambling, and tobacco-chewing, 
more crime and profligacy, and, at the 
same time, more solid advancement made 
by the people, as a body, in wealth, pros- 
perity, and the refinements of civilizadon, 
than could be shown in an equal space of 
time by any community of the same size 
on the face of the earth. 

The every-day jog-trot of ordinary hu- 
man existence was not a fast enough pace 
for Galifornians in their impetuous pursuit 
of wealth. The longest period of time 
ever thought of was a month. Money was 
loaned, and houses were rented, by the 
month : interest and rent being invariablT 
payable monthly and in advance. All 
engagements were made by the month, 
during which period the changes and con- 
tingencies were so great that no one was 
willing to commit himself for a longer 
term. In the space of a month the whole 
city might be swept off by fire, and a to- 
tally new one might be flourishing in its 
place. So great was the constant fluctu- 
ation in the prices of goods, and so rash 
and speculative was the usual style of 
business, that no great idea of stability 
could be attached to anything, and the 
ever-varying aspect of the streets, as the 
houses were being constantly pulled down 
and rebuilt, was emblematic of the equally 
varying fortunes of the inhabitants. 

In ue midst of it all, the runners, or 
tooters, for the opposition river steam- 
boats, would be cracking up the superi- 
ority of their respective boats at the top of 
their lungs, somewhat in tliis style : ^' One 
dollar to-night for Sacramento, by the 
splendid steamer Senator, the fastest boat 
that ever turned a wheel from long wharf 
— ^with feather pillows and curled-hair mat- 
trasses, mahogany doors and silver hinges. 
She has got eight young lady passengers 
to-night, that speak all the dead languages, 
and not a colored man from stem to stem 
of her." Here an opposition runner wonld 
let out on him, and the two would slang 
each other in the choisest California Bil- 
lingsgate for the amusement of the admi- 
ring crowd. 

Presently one would hear ^* llullo! 
there's a muss!'' {Angtic^ a row), and 



men would be seen rushing to the spot 
from aU quarters. Auctiun-rooms, gam- 
blmsr-rooiiis, stores, and drinking-snops 
voaul be emptied, and a mob collect in the 
ftreet in a moment. The " muss " would 
probably be only a diffkuUy between two 
centlemeD, who had refened it to the ar- 
bitratioo of knives or pistols ; but if no one 
wan killed, the mob would disperse, to re- 
same tbeir yarious occupations, just as 
quickly as they had collected. 

Some of the principal streets were 
planked, as was also, of course, that part 
of the city which was built on piles : but 
where there was no planking, the mud was 
ankle- deep, and in many places there were 
mad-holes, rendering the street almost im- 

California was oflen said to be famous for 
three things — ^rats, fleas, and empty bottles. 

The whole place swarmed with rats of 
an enormous size ; one could hardly walk 
at night without treading on them. They 
destroyed an immense deal of property, 
and a good ratting terrier was worth his 
weight in gold dust. I knew instances, 
howerer, of first rate terriers in Sacra- 
mento City (which for rats beat San Frati- 
cisoo hollow) becoming at last so utterly 
disgusted witii killing rats, that they ceased 
to consider it any sport at all, and allowed 
the rats to mn under their noses without 
deifniDg to look at them. 

As for the other industrious little an- 
imals, they were a terrible nuisance. I 
Mippose they were indigenous to the sandy 
•od. It was quite a common thing to see 
a gentleman suddenly pull up the sleeve 
of his coat, or the leg of his trousers, and 
mUe in trinmph when he caught his little 

The few ladies who were already in San 
Francisco, very naturally avoided appear- 
ing in public ; but numbers of female toi- 
lettes, of the most extravagantly rich and 
gorg e o u s materials, swept the muddy 
ftreeCSy and added not a little to the incon- 
imons variety of the scene. 

There was in the crowd a large propor- 
tioD of well-shaven men, in stove-pipe hats 
and broadcloth ; but, however nearly a 
man mi^ht approach in appearance to the 
conventional idea of a genUeman, it is not 
to be snpposed, on that account, that he 
either was or got the credit of being, a bit 
better than his neighbors. The man stand- 
ing next him, in the guise of a laboring 
man, was perhaps his superior in wealth, 
cbaiacter and eaucation. Appearances, at 
least as fitf as dress was concerned, went 
&r Bodung at alL A man was judged by 

the amount of money in his purse, and fre- 
quently the man to be most courted for 
his dollars was the most to be despised for 
his looks. 

At this time the gamblers were, as a 
general thing, the best dressed men in San 
Francisco. Many of them were very gen- 
tlemanly in appearance, but there was a 
peculiar air about them which denoted 
their profession. 

[2b 6e CorUinued.] 



Night came upon the city. In the halls 
Wu ftastiog ; in the broed and lighted etveets, 
The crowd! of busy men went rnehing on, 
All beedlees of the liHurftil doom that hnng 
O'er the devoted city. 

Hark I aaeand, 
Filling all heart! with tenor— drowning e'en 
The Toioe of reTelry. so that her Totariea 
Looked up aghast with fear— sending its tone 
Throogh curtained chambers, where the rich repose, 
With gold and purple hung, and heard throughout 
The dim and dreary hovels of the poor— 
** Awake ! awake 1 the dty is on lire I " 

Then came a rush like chariots through the streets. 

And fearful clangor, and the sounding cry 

Of strong men in their might, mingled with wail 

Of fbeble women, and the inlknt's cry. 

Clasping its little hands, trembling with fear, 

To its young mother's breast. 

And then a roar 
Like that of many waters, heard at first 
Afar, then ne«r and nearer felt I Then came 
A mighty rushing sound, and then a crash 
Like heaviest thunder, with an earthquake shook, 
Startling the earth beneath, as though the end 
Of all things was at hand. 

It fell! ItfeU! 
The Golden City with its palaces ; 
Turret and tower, and gorgeous glittering dome. 
Sunk in a sea of flrel 

*« Bring forth the dead t " and straight they brought 

them forth ; 
Changed, limbless forms, all seorefaed and seathed 

with flrel 
Oh I Godl thdr weeping mothers scarce could tell. 
Which washer darling there I— They brought tmm 

And on tbe broad Plasa laid them in the repose 
Of fearfti] death! 

One came— she was a lady of high mien. 
And noble oeauty, one of Spain's air daughters, 
But pale and trembling as the aspen leaf. 
And gasing with wild eyes among the sad 
And fearful ranks of death. For one there was 
Who left her on that eve to Join the throng 
Of mirth and ibasting, in the ibstal halls- 
She had not seen him since. 

Hark I a wail, 
Pierdng all hearts, and Ikeexing e'en the blood 
Of valiant men with terror— • loud shriek 
Of bursting anguish — then a fearftil ory— 
''Alfonso! Oh! 'tis he! 'tis he! Alfonso!" 

There they lay. 
On the odd earth together, side by side, — 
Tdl me, whioh Is the living? whkh the dead ! 

Talk not of fire I There Is one Are that bums 

Deeper and hotter than the fhmaoe flame, 

Lit oy Assyria's Monarch, into which, 

With Ood's bright Ansel, the three brothers walked— 

Blailag and glowing Uke a second beU— 

It i»-the anguish ofa BleedlDg Heart! O. T. S. 





For weeks had I been sick — ^weeks 
that seemed to hang and hover over me, 
reluctant to go by. And as each suc- 
ceeding week found me still worse, and 
promised nothing better, I lost all faith 
m physic, because tired of paying my 
physician eight dollars per day for ad- 
vice, and one dollar each for pills — 
tired of hearing kind-hearted and sym- 
pathizing friends each morning inquire, 
*' How do you feel to-day ?" — ^tired of 
seeing them whisper together, shake 
their heads, and oast furtive glances at 
me, with countenances which indicated 
plainly what they would say if they 
only dared — " Poor fellow, you'll soon 
be off" — and even tired of one good, 
whole-souled old friend, who would 
come day after day, and every day, as 
he oame in, laugh loud and long, ex- 
claiming — "Why! how much better 
you look to-day *' — seeming much sur- 
prised at such an unexpected change — 
then sitting down, commence to tell 
some good story or joke, and, before he 
had got half through, turn back to me, 
and drawing from the capacious pocket 
of his monkey-jucket aii immense ban- 
dana, wipe the tears out of his eyes, 
and then, with a broken voice, resume 
the story. I tell you, I was tired of 
this — ^perfectly disgusted — it made me 
angry I and I determined to disappoint 
them all, and fwt die — at least just 

I thought a change of air, climate, 
and scenery, together with a strong 
will, would restore me to health again, 
and, after a great deal of coaxing, my 
friends concluded to humor me, and 
one bright morning in the month of 
March, '50, I was carried on board the 
steamboat Linda, then running between 
Sacramento and Marysville. From the 
officers of the boat I received every at- 
tention possible, and shall ever remem- 
ber their many acts of kindness with a 
grateful heart. 

I was right in my conjectures, for 

ere I had sojourned at Marysville three 
weeks, I could take my regular meals, 
and walk several miles a day. My 
home at this place was with two old 
friends, who but a short time previous 
erected a canvas store-house, and, get- 
ting in a stock of goods, now only 
wanted one thing to enable them to do 
a "tip-top" business, and that one 
thing was customers. 

It was my intention, upon regaining 
my health, to have returned to Sacra- 
mento, but was prevented by a circum- 
stance which will form the burden ol' 
this sketch. Adjoining the store of 
my friends was a hotel which rejoiced 
in the humble but pleasing cognomen 
of " The Miners' Rest," and, as the 
sign said, "By Harris and Walker,'' 
but, as every one else said, "Old 
Harris" and "Col. Walker." The 
^^chef de cuisine** of the establish- 
ment—our heroine — ^was a specimen 
of the French race, " fair, fat, aod 
(every day of) forty f** and who was 
rendered unhappy by being obliged to 
wear the somewhat spicy appellation of 
Gingerly; she having married a man 
bearing that euphonious surname, and 
from whom, after a short season, sbe 

Capt. Gingerly was an old mountain- 
eer, and had met the woman (Mrs. 
Benton) in San Francisco soon afler 
her arrival at that place, and represent- 
ing himself as an associate of Capt. 
Sutter, and the proprietor of an exten- 
sive tract of land somewhere, he won 
the affections (?) of the widow — for 
widow she was, and came to this countr}* 
for the express purpose of making a 
"good thing" out of somebody. To 
be sure, Capt. Gingerly was not what 
would be called a handsome man — hiH 
age did not exceed fifty — ^his body, 
which was adout six feet long, wa.s 
slightly bent — shoulders round and 
stooping — face long, wrinkled, and or- 
namented with several "whisky illus- 
trations " — his teeth had, probably in 
some encounter with a bear, been 
knocked down his throat ; at any rate 
they were missing, with the cxeeptioD 



of two, one in eaob upper jaw, and 
which pioftraded orer his nether lip, 
after the fiishion of a boar's tnsks. 
He waa an inveterate chewer of to- 
bacco, and Bttch an attachment had he 
for the weed, that he could not bear to 
^pit the juioe away, bat allowed it to 
trickle fh>n the oomers of his mouth ; 
his eyes were small and deeply set be- 
Desih a low, ptojecting forehead ; his 
hair was long, thin, and straight. Of 
his eostame it is not necessary to speak, 
as in those days drest did not make the 
loan. Bnt if he were not handtome, he 
poBseesed — so 'twas said — other attrac- 
tions, compared with which personal 
appeananoe was not to be considered. 
The dear woman, hearing of the enor- 
moos length of his purse, and of his 
renown as a mountaineer, proceeded to 
throw oat bait for the gallant Captain — 
and the Captain, hearing that the widow 
WIS quite wealthy, having brought with 
her from New York a large amount of 
the ^* needftil," besidee a store of pro- 
nnons, took the bait. 

It is perhaps needless to say that the 
(^aptain was nothing more than his ap- 
pearance would indicate, a miserable 
rJd mountain loafer, who had passed 
jeaxB in roaming about the mountaii^, 
with bears and Indians for his associ- 
ates, (he earth for his bed, boots-^when 
he had any — ^for his pillow, and the 
<-«nopy of heaven his coverlid. They 
were married, the rites over, the knot 
tied, the oaths recorded, and the honey- 
moon was in its senith, when the 
dreadful discoverv was made that both 
were 9oid, 

\\ms\ Alns! for insrriag;c rows •^ 
8be (poor «oqJ) oow eurnd her tpou<e, 
Whiiit be (the wicked feUow) pnUed her hair, 
Aad borria imprecatioas filled the air. 

It was not possible for them to live 
together after the unfortunate dencme* 
ti^nt^ and they consequently agreed to 
^paraSe. The Captain once more found 
ais home among the mountains, and 
Mrs. G . repaired to Marysville and ae- 
f-epted the situation where we find her. 

Some time had now elapsed since the 
^epaimtion, and the old lady had, as a 


general thing, maintained a ri^d si* 
lenoe in regard to the a&ir, but when 
she did speak of her noble spouse, it 
was in terms doing as little credit to 
herself as to him. But the Oaptain in 
his mountain rambles often thought of 
that happy honey-moon — Chappy ere the 
brewing storm burst — ^and often regret- 
ted his part, not in the deception, but 
the separation, and finally concluded 
that it was her duty to follow him, and 
that she should do so, whether she 
liked it or not. Many were the mes- 
sengers he sent, but to all did she turn 
a deaf ear, and would not be persuaded— 
various times had he himself ventured 
into town, but could never obtain a 
hearing. One day, however, feeling 
very strong within himself, he came to 
town determined upon something des- 

Just aft;er dark he occupied a posi- 
tion in the rear of the house, having 
determined to make the attack ftom 
that quarter. He was not obliged to 
wait long for a favorable opportunity — 
soon all was quiet, not a soul to be seen. 
Stealthily he creeps along, with cat-like 
pace; caatiously, yet rapidly, he nears 
the open door — a moment more and he 
has crossed the threshold, and stands 
firmly upon the kitchen floor. The 
good old lady stands there too, busily 
engaged washing her cups and sauoeis^ 
and, as she washes a cup and tarns it 
down to dry, hums a few ban of '' Jor- 
dan," and with her apron wipes the 
steam and perspiration &om her bfow. 

As she appears so well contented, 
and iu such a happy frame of mind, 
and while the old gentleman hesitates^ 
to decide upon the proper manner to 
announce his arrival, we will take a 
peep in at the front door* Here sit 
the guests, some upon wooden forms-^ 
subfiMLitutes for chairs — some upon the 
bar, and others upon the table. Mine 
hosts are here too, — nearly every one 
is enjoying the luxuiy of a pipe; 
scarcely a word is spoken, but all in 
silent revery gaae upon the smoky 
wreaths as they form tiny riags^ ex- 
pand, and wind about, and burst*-* 



burst 1 did I say ? — well, I might, for 
the ato/ulest noise burst ai)on our earfi 
just then that you ever did hear; it to 
me sounded more like a heavy clap of 
thunder, with a tin-pan and crockery 
ware accompaniment, than any thing 
I now think of. In an instant every 
one was on his feet, but for a moment 
undecided which way to run; then, as 
by common consent, rushed for the 
kitchen. Shades of departed crockery 
merchants, what a sight was here I 
Pots, kettles, crockeiy ware, knives and 
forks, the wash-tub, together with dish 
water and old Gingerly, formed a het- 
erogeneous mass in one comer, while 
opposite stood our heroine, one foot 
slightly in advance of the other, and 
in each extended hand a saucer — her 
eyes shone with a bright wild glare, and 
almost thundered victory ! — her upper 
lip and nose turned as if to indicate the 
scorn and contempt she felt for the 
miserable wretch lying subdued and 
crying in the corner. That unfortunate 
individual presented a most pitiable ap- 
pearance. We rescued him from his 
perilous situation, and questioned him 
as to his being there; he told us that 
he wanted to see the '^old woman" 
very much, and upon a subject of great 
importance ; that he would forgive her 
this onslaught if, in return, she would 
allow him a few moments conversation 
in private. 

He began pleading so earnestly that 
Mr. Harris interceded for him, and was 
successful in obtaining an interview, 
limited to five minutes. Five minutes 
passed — ^ten — ^twenty— ^ne hour — ^two 
hours, and I went home to bed. Yery 
early the following morning Col. Walker 
^ided noiselessly into our store, and, 
striking an attitude, made use of ges- 
ticulations and symbols, generally used 
when silence or secrecy is necessary, 
and by which we at once understood 
that ''something was up." After as- 
certaining that it was not possible for 
any one to overhear, he, in sort of a 
half whisper, delivered himself of the 
following: "Old Gingerly has struck 
it big I he's found a place where a man 

can make his hundred a day with a pan 
as easy as nothing — ^he's given the old 
lady several large specimens, and she's 
going with him and wants me to go 
along, but the old man obstinately re- 
fuses. If you'll go with me the old 
woman says that she'll find out and 
give us such directions that we can fol- 
low and keep close behind them." 
Here he stopped to breathe; and — ^we 

Eeserving a goodly stock of provis- 
ions and stores to take with us, mj 
friends disposed of the balance to a 
neighbor at " less than cost," and by 
noon of the next day we were ready, 
and waiting for the wagon — ^it came, 
was speedily loaded ; and we left Ma- 
rysville twenty-four hours behind the 
old Captain, with such information a^ 
we supposed would enable us in due 
time to overtake and claim an interest 
in his El Dorado. 

And this, my friend, (I presume you 
must be, or you would never have read 
thus far,) is an excellent stopping place. 
If you have found aught in the fore- 
going to interest you, and if you would 
learn more of Gingerly & Co., have pa- 
tience, and on or near the first of Oc- 
tober next again invest the small snm 
of twenty-five cents for the benefit of 
Hutchings & Co's Magazine, and you 
shall be rewarded for your endurance. 



Gentle .Sister : — If any effort of 
my poor pen can afford a single pleas- 
ure to one like thee, or gratify one wish 
so kindly spoken as thine, most willing- 
ly do I resume it. 

Albeit the interest which you so ten- 
derly express, may have been only in 
the association of friends, which exists 
now, only as if it had never existed, 

" in Ihosc visions to the heart displaying ^^ 
Formsi which it sighs but to have onlydrevm^* 



Albeit this new attenapt may fail to 
please, — yet, still, I would beg to be 
kindly remembered, if for nothing but 
the zeal with which I shall strive to 
uierit your approbation. 

Erer yonn, gentle friend, Jok. 

No. 1. 


MThat a beautiful scene I gaze on, as 
1 sit on the threshold of my cabin, in 
the shade of the old oak. Every sound 
is hushed in the noonday stillness, ex- 
cept the gentle rustling of leaves that 
are stirred by the faint breeze, and the 
harsh notes of some noisy jays in the 
neighboring thicket. Occasionally the 
({uail from the distant hill-side calls to 
its mate, aod the shrill scream of the 
hawk is heard as he soars into the upper 
air. Before the cabin the scene lies 
dazzlinely bright, and far away the 
distant hills glimmer in the heated sun- 
light. What deep tranquility pervades 
the whole ! And why am I a mourner 
IS I sit in the doorway in the shadow 
of the old oak? Why does not my 
heart, moved by that latent sympathy 
which exists between man and sur- 
rounding objects, beat responsive to the 
peaeefal and dreamy happiness that 
rests npon the noonday landscape? 
.\la8 ! why are there ever shades upon 
natoiB's beautiful face ? And why, 
when the sun shines brightest, are they 

Perhaps it is well that we are not 
'Jways glad. Our occasional sadness 
may make us more regardful of the 
bapiHsess of others, and keep alive the 
seoteneM of our own susceptibility of 
pleasure, which too constant joyousness 
mi^ht blunt. At tny rate I will not 
attempt to shake off this sadness to-day, 
•ff all others, for it is an anniversary 
which my heart should keep in sorrow. 

Nations and societies have their an- 
luvenaries, which they hold in eher- 
Uhed respect. Even now our own glo- 
rious national one has just passed, and 
the patriotic hearts that throbbed with 

so much excitement have hardly yet 
subsided to their quiet beat. And 
shall not our hearts have their own an- 
niversaries of joy or grief? Shall we 
foster no ivy-vine of memory, to twine 
round the ruins of the bright dreams 
and airy superstructures of youth ? — 
Yes, — ^and we will hold the day of their 
&11 sacred to nourish it with tears. 

Willie Walters and I — ^both anima- 
ted with the careless, happy, hopeful 
spirit of fifteen — ^had returned from 
school to spend the summer months at 
our homes. We were equally wild in 
our visions of inture fame and happi- 
ness, and equally ignorant of life's real 
nature. Our parents were near neigh- 
bors in the little village, and we were 
constant companions, and, in the ex- 
citement of youthful joy, we weregoiug 
to write a tale during the summer 
months, whose truthful delineations of 
life should win for us an enviable repu- 
tation. We had already chosen for the 
name of our great work Sunshine and 
Shadowy as expressive of the vicis- 
situdes of life, and were discussing the 
plot^ and the characters that were to 
figure in it 

<<It shall be a home tale, true to 
life," said Willie; '^eveiy character 
in the end shall be happy; and the only 
shadow shall be a delayed hope, or mo- 
mentary disappointment. And no one 
shall die, because it's not necessary. 
Writers do wrong to have their good 
oharacteiB die,— 4t's not natural, and 
they only do so in books beoause the 
authors use their power arbitrarily. 
And then," he continued, his elo- 
quence warming as he proceeded, '^ we 
have got two such dear beings to in* 
spire ns wiUi a beautiful ideal of happy, 
loving, angelic characters. Sister Amy 
shall be yours and Hattie Wade mine; 
and they will feel so proud to see them- 
selves mirrored by such fiattering re- 
flectors as our afiisctions will prove, — 
O, it will be a glorious work I" And 
he danced around the room in an eo- 
stacy of delight 

I know not what I responded, but 
my hopes were as wild and sanguine as 



bie own. And when I thought of the 
inspiration that the love of Amy Wal- 
ters woald lend, I felt sure that my de- 
lineation of her character would be 
comparable to nothing but the loveliest 
and best of angels; and the pride that 
swelled my breast when I thought that 
perhaps the merits of our work would 
make me in the least more worthy of 
her affection, or light one gleam of ad- 
miration in her peerless eyes, was such 
as only swells the bosom of boyhood. 

Our tale opened with the scene of a 
gay group of children going forth in 
the spring time to range the fields in 
search of flowers. We lefl them, with 
their glad shouts and merry laughter 
ringing in the air — chasing butterflies 
and gathering wild flowers — to moralize 
thus : — 

'^ Sport on, happy group, sport on ! 
Grather the bright flowers that grow so 
plentiitiily around you — created, it 
would seem, for your tiny hands ! — 
Chase the gaudy insects that so easily 
elude your grasp, and leave the pursuit 
with only a laugh at your baffled chase I 
8port on while yet you may ! for, all 
too soon, stern care will surround you, 
thick as diese flowers, and your gay 
laugh change to sighs of disappoint- 

" Sport on, happy grouj^malltype 
of creation, sport on ! The world goes 
forth to gather flowers; — all look for- 
ward over life's opening fields and see 
a boundless expanse of bloom; and 
press eagerly forward, clothed with 
high hopes, to pluck the inviting blos- 
soms, and. grasp the dazzling insects ; 
but when they are gained, the blossoms 
9xe changed to sorrows and the insects 
to illusions. The world goes forth to 
gather flowers, but how many, many, 
phick the thorns of care.'' 

'^Excellent,'' cried Willie, as he read 
it over, '^ but it's hardly true to life, I 
think, for you know there is nothiiig 
but happiness ; we must, however, have 
this to give eSed; yet we must get 
nothing sadder, for if we do the shadow 
<^ our tale will ezeeed the sunshine ; 
aad I'm sore if we should live twenty 

lives, experience would allow us nothing 
more sorrow]^ than this." 

Inconsiderate, boyish words! But 
I thought them not so then, for my 
heart responded to their sentiment; 
and, happy in the commencement of 
our tale, we laid it aside until the mor- 
row. Alas! it was never resumed. It 
fell like many another bright structure 
of my youth ; and the work that was 
to have made our names immortal, 
is only extant on the pages of mem- 

That day Willie and I walked arm 
in arm to the little lake beyond the vil- 
lage, and saw — ^as not unusually we 
did — Amy and Hattie in the pleasure 
boat^ floating on the bright surface of 
the pond. The day was still and sultry, 
and the idle sail scarcely moved the 
little boat. The girls saw us as we 
stood on the bank, watching them drift 
slowly across the pond, and theii^ laugh 
rang sweet and clear over the water as 
they cried in girlish coquetry, that they 
had found an effectual way of keeping 
at a respectful distance two such im- 
portunate visitors as we were. The 
merry sound had scarcely died when 
we saw the smooth surface beyond 
them, suddenly agitated by one of those 
quick gusts, or little whirlwinds, that 
are so i&equent during the sultry sum- 
mer months. Before we could warn 
them it had touched the boat, — ^bome 
it hastily through the water for a sec- 
ond of time,-— overturned, and driven it 
beyond the reach of the girls, who 
sank, with two smothered shrieks, 
under the water. It had all been done 
so suddenly, that Willie and I stood 
for a moment as if chained to the 
ground ; but the next instant we were 
swimming furiously to their rescue. The 
distance was considerable, but our des- 
perate exertions passed it rapidly. 
Thrice we saw the girls appear, clasped 
in each others' embrace, the last time 
but a short distance from us ; but we 
reached the spot too late. The strag- 
gle was over, and wo could only indis- 
tinctly see two white forms in the depth 
of the agitated waters— dearer to us 



Uian the richest pearb that ever lay in 
their watery hed. 

I have but a dim recoUeotion of what 
oecarred after we found our efforts to 
saTe them fruitless. Willie gained the 
boat, and I returned to the shore and 
ran to the vOlage for assistance. I re- 
member indistinctly of seeing folks hur- 
rying wildly to the boat, carrying long 
hooks; and, as they raised the fair 
forms from the bottom, of seeing the 
water gently stir the long disheveled 
treases as if repentant of its cruel 

*' Qnmxingt if aug^t iDammate e'er grieves/' 

that it had borne so fatally the beauti- 
fal trusts that had been given to its 

All efforts of restoration to life were 
ineffectual, and the fair fonns were 
robed in the spotless livery of death. 

One general cloudof grief overspread 
the village at the sorrowful fate of its 
two fairest children; but there were 
two of the mourners who stood motion- 
less apart, in the intensity of that grief 
which neither speaks nor weeps — ^two, 
who, that veiy day, in the ftilness of 
their joyousness, had thought that life 
contained no dark shades, now bowed 
to a grief so overwhelming, that it could 
scarcely define itself in thought— much 
\^m find utterance in tears or speech. 

We had loved them not, perhaps, 
with the steady discerning affection of 
mature years, but with the intense ro- 
maotic passion of youth — 

" Our love it wai ttrao^r by far than love 
Of maoy far older than we : 
Of maoy ftr wiser than we."— 

They were the beings to whom our 
hearts elnng with all the ardent affec- 
tion of our years ; the princes at whose 
feel we were to lay the trophies of all 
oar visidnary knightly deeds; — the oh- 
jeeU to which, in the fear of future, all 
the aims of life centered. — We had 
thought of them in this light until now, 
when aJ] was so suddenly crushed : it 
was as if the sun had been taken from 
us at midday, and left not a shadow but 
a raylesB midnight gloom. 

I might stop here, but I am tracing I 

shadows to-day, and I've one more page 
to add to the dark portion of ' Sun- 
shine and Shadows.' 

Whatever stars rule the destiny of 
Willie and I, their horoscope fated our 
lots to run parallel, even to being to- 
gether in the mines of California, — 
where poor Willie exists a mournful 
shadow on a bright scene. 

We miners, as a class, are generally a 
merry set of fellows, who enjoy life as 
it goes — as far as circumstances will 
admit. Yet with all this general merri- 
ment and carelesness, there are many 
sad faces among us, upon which care and 
anxiety have written their presence in 
deep characters; and it is said that the 
insane asylum at Stockton contains, 
proportionally, more inmates than that 
of any other State of the Union. It 
is no wonder. The extremes of for- 
tune — ^poverty and boundless wealth, — 
wealth and abject poverty, and their 
corresponding emotions — ^are liable to 
succeed each other so quickly in our 
State, that the minds of her votaries, 
unless possessed of great elasticity, are 
unable to bend to these sudden chimges, 
and break, — leaving these mournful 
monuments of the strength of our pas- 
sions. Such, now, exists poor Willie ; 
mild and harmless he wanders about 
among his friends, telling the wild phan- 
tasies and incoherent dreams of his 
disordered brain. 

I saw him to-day, and he told me about 
the phantom-miner, a strange fancy by 
which he accounts for the disappearance 
of an old camp-mate who went home 
when Willie first became deranged. 

'^ 'Twas in the hungry winter of '58," 
he commenced; ''the weather was se- 
vere, — ^times were awfully hard, and 
water had begun to fail ; — and many a 
stout heart that had borne up against al- 
most overwhelming adversity, began to 
grow discouraged. One stormy Saturday 
night a large company was assembled at 
old Brook's trading tent, enjoying them- 
selves to the fullest extent on whiskey, 
— ^for that was the only thing that was 
cheap or plenty that winter. Jack 
Beed was the liveliest one among thorn. 



If men's spirits could be constructed 
into a barometor, I conid have told any 
one who had said that that human barom- 
eter had fallen, that Jack Reed was in 
high spirits, for when every body else 
was 'down in the mouth' he was al- 
ways livliest ; some thought he did it 
to vex them, but he didn't, — ^he felt at 
heart as dull as any, but nobly exerted 
himself to appear cheerful to entertain 

And this night when they all spoke 
so despondingly of the hard times and 
failing digging, Jack, as usual, tried to 
cheer them ; he admitted that at pres- 
ent it was * mighty tight papers,' but 
times would brighten, he said, and as 
for the diggins — why ! they had never 
found the best yet, — ^prospecting was 
all that was wanted to show them rich- 
er deposites than had ever yet been 

But Jack's reasoning had no more 
effect on them, than preaching had on 
the Scribes and Pharisees — ^they were 
of little faith, — and jeered him and 
told him he was "gassing," and that he 
knew it. 

Unable to contend againt their unbe- 
lief, and probably his own secret opin- 
ions also, Jack lost his good nature, and 
swore if words would not convince 
them, he was ready to prove what he 
said by deeds ; and catching up a pick, 
pan and shovel, he took such an oath 
as made the most inveterate swearers 
of the company tremble, that he would 
not taste a mouthful of food or enter a 
house until he had shown them a rich- 
er claim than was known on that Creek ; 
and with these words he went out into 
the furious storm, slamming the door 
behind him. " 

Here Willie paused and looked wild- 
ly around, until we asked him what 
became of Jack. 

"He never found the claim," he 
replies, ; " diggins have been growing 
worse ever since, and he has become a 
phantom., I waited long at my cabin 
for him to return, but he didn't come ; 
I began to suspect the truth, and wateh- 
ed sharp and constantly night and day. 

At last one night I heard a dull sound 
as of some one washing dirt wiih a pan. 
The sound was muffled and cautious, 
but my ear was quick and caught it. 
I moved stealthily to the spot whence 
it came, and then I first learned that it 
was a phantom, for he was aware of my 
presence, and fled with the speed of 
light ; but I caught a glimpse of him 
as he flitted over the distant hills, and 
I saw that it was Jack R«ed, changed 
to a shadow. 

Since that I hear him nightly, and 
place food for him but it is always un- 

And often in the winter season, when 
the dreary rain falls incessantly for 
weeks, I nightly hear the sound of 
weary footsteps without my cabin ; but 
when I hasten to the door they flee 
from me, and are lost in the distance in 
the pattering of the falling rain. But 
I know well they are the footsteps of 
one, who in vain must wish for shelter 
from the merciless storm — ^in vain wish 
to live again among men, and yet can 
never hope for the rest and peace of the 
grave. " 

When I listen to willie as he tells 
this, and see his wasted form, and his 
quick wild gestures, and restive glances 
that betoken his shattered mind, I 
think of the happy boy, who thought 
that life's experience would not justify 
the writing of one sad sentence, and of 
the many sad changes I have known, 
and daily learned, I can almost ask, in 
the impassioned words of the poet, — 

" O, God ! bow long shall the daylig^hl last ? 
When shall the sun and shadow be past V 

Such is life — sunshine and shadow-- 
but which the most? As often, in 
childish glee, I have sat for hours 
watching the clouds' shadows and sun- 
shine chase each other over the mead- 
ows, and cried, as either held transient 
sway, "There's the most shadow — 
there's the most sunshine," — so, al- 
though to-morrow I may say there is 
more sunshine, yet to-day, of all other 
days, while this sadness rests on me, I 
will say "life has more shadow." 


A 8TBAN0EB BY THE WAY-SIDE. ' ^e, go alone to his mother'a graye. I 

saw him kneel there : I heard his words 

Not long since, in taking a trip to of prayer. They were few and simple : 
one of the upper towns of Yuba Conn- i << Oh God ! let my mother's counsels 
tj, my attention was attracted by a ' and my mother's spirit, accompanied 
gimve in a lonely place by the way-side, always by Thy grace, go with me in my 
I stopped my horse, and for some mo- ' wanderings. Be with my wife and 
ments regarded the spot in silent med- ; child in my absence, and be their friend. 
itation. i And if a sinner may ask so much of 

Here lay a mortal, once full of life, j Thee without offense, bring me to see 
whose heart beat to emotions of hope them again in peace.'' This was all. 
and joy, as well as of hatred, of grief, I He rose from his knees, and taking a 
of despair ; — one endeared, perhaps, , common pebble from the head of that 
to all the tender relations of life — wno | grave, placed it in his pocket and said : 
In infancy had fondly sported upon his | '< This, dear mother, to remember thy 
mother's knee; — ^in boyhood following I counsel." And then he wept — ^there 
hiB Other's footsteps to the field, or , by his mother's grave. * * ♦ * 
riding behind him to the country town i I saw him again at his home The 
— had disturbed the silent meditations ' hour of departure had come. His 
of hifl indulgent parent, by his inno- scanty baggage had already been con- 
cent prattle and inquiring loquacity ; , veyed to the nearest rail-road station. 
— in youth had sofdy sung the love- . Willing to postpone the most painful 
9ong — bad furtively cast the love-look parting to the last, he first turns to the 
— had tremblingly spoke the love-vow i faithful servant, and tells her to be 
to some fair and willing maiden among ^ good and kind to her mistress, while he 
his fiithcr's neighbors ; and in man- is gone, and then he bids her farewell. 
hood, having united his fortune to hers , His father next : — '< God bless you, my 
by the nearest and dearest of ties — son," is all that is said. That son can 
the tie most akin to the union of the only press his father's hand. He can 
M>ul with its God — he has perhaps al- 1 not speak. Words are for the empty, 
ready fondled upon his lap a bright and | not the full. Next he turns to his wife, 
k)Tely child, as himself was fondled ' who stands waiting with her child in 
years before. , her arms ; but there is something too 

I stood there by that lone grave by tender and too sacred about the sepa- 
the way-side, and I saw — ^yes, in my ration of husband and wife, even for a 
mind's eye, clearly saw him leave his short time, to be witnessed by bystand- 
home^ months gone by, for the far-off , ers, so she accompanied him part of the 
vest, in search of riches. Alas ! what way to the rail-road station. They 
are riches, that they should cause us ' went with their arms lovingly linked 
to sever so many of the finest cords of I together, ever and anon gazing into the 
the hnman soul — that they should im- i depths of each other'ft souls. Oh, it 
pel UB to forego so many of the true j was a sad sight to see them part. For 
joya of life ! ' riches — ^for riches alone he is about to 

The day came ; — ^the day of parting, i leave that dear sweet woman, who has 
I saw bis aged father come across the surrounded his manhood with a world 
field : his thin silver locks were tossed of love and virtuous affection* — ^leave 
about by the wind as, leaning upon his j her to struggle in life alone, unguided 
staff, he comes-^tottering as he comes, by his counsel, unaided by his strength 
to bid his son farewell, and to give him — leave his wife, " the last best giflb of 

his blessing. 

I saw that son — that son who now 
lies here by the way-side— early in the 
morning of the day set for his depart- 

heaven to man," without whom his 
riches would prove worthless^ and the 
world would be a desert. 
But they parted. No words were 



heard; naught but sobs— sobs which 
came all the way from the depths of 
human feeling, and overflowed the soul 
as did the waters of the world when 
the fountains of the ''great deep'' 
were broken up. They parted. One 
last kiss, one last embrace for his wife 
and child, and he was gone ! Moum- 
fuUy, tearfully, she returns to the 
house. Poor woman ! those tears are 
but the precursor of those thou wilt 
shed when thou knowest he lies in this 
grave by the way-side ! 

Many weary days wilt thou impa- 
tiently wait to hear from him ! Many 
weary nights wilt thou lie awake pray- 
ing for his speedy return. At such 
times, forgetting any of his bad, thou 
wilt treasure up in thy virtuous heart 
all his good qualities ; all his kind acts, 
his loving looks, his soft and tender 
words. Treasure them, dear woman ; 
treasure them well — ^for by thee they 
shall be seen and heard no more for- 
ever ! When thou hearest from him, 
thou shalt hear that he is dead ! Thou 
shalt hear of his last short sickness ; 
how in his delirium he called upon thee 
and thy innocent babe, in tones of ten- 
der endearment — not remembering that 
ye were far away. Thou shalt hear 
how that his bed was made by stran- 
gers — ^kind ones, we hope — ^in a strange 
land : how that strangers nursed him 
while sick, and closed his eyes when 
he died, while yet the name of '' Mary'' 
was warm on his lips : how that stran- 
gers buried him here — here^ where I 
now stand — in the lonely grave hy the 
v>ay'Side. Oh God ! of infinite good- 
ness and powef ! temper this bleak 
wind to the shorn lamb. Bear her 
up above the troubles of earth with 
the blessed hope of rest beyond the 

And thou, stranger, rest on in thy 
lonely grave, until the last trump sum- 
mon ^ee to a re-union with those 
whom thy soul loved on earth ; and to 
whom, perhaps at this moment, thou 
art the ever near, and the guardian-* 


Oh ! was n't it capital fan ! Oho I wish 
I'd been there. Jnst served you right, sir ; 
served you too well, Mr. Fe-lix-an-der Do- 

Baffled off! ha, ha, ha I he, he, he! 
Glad of it. Well, I fancy that I *d feel 
ashamed too, if I were you, and I wooldn^t 
try to seek sympathy from the readers of 
iJie ^* Magazine," either, because you' 11 
never get it — don't deserve it. 

I 'd persist till the last moment in say- 
ing that it was all fair enough, because 
these toothache, rheumatic, good-for-no- 
thing old bachelors are de — cided hum — 
bugs, anyhoWf and should be treated ac- 
cordingly. The fact is, they can't be per- 
secuted badly enough. 

If J' <2 been there, you wouldn't have 
escaped so easily. I do n*t mean to say 
that I would have made you marry mCj — 
heaven save the mark ! No indeed. But 
I'd have made you marry Miss Matilda 
Buckheart I and if you hadn't, I'd have 
scorched the hair off of one side of your 
head, compelled you to waltz with a chair, 
and had you drummed out of town. Tes 

I'd like to have caught my cherry lips 
kissing your brown, tobacco-juiced month I 
The idea of any of the ladies kissing you I 

But I'd have taught you a lesson about 
writing such things about the ladies, and 
having them promulgated, I assure you ! 
Now, now stop! hold your tongue ! there's 
no excuse whatever. No matter if she 
wasn't very refined or prepossessing : she 
was good enough for an '* old bach." 

I don't wonder that the old lady across 
the way laughs at you, because I'll bet 
that that wrapper is a year old and full of 
holes — don't fit nicely — needs to be taken 
up in the shoulders, gathered, felled on 
the wrong side, and hemstitched on the 
right side. 

I'm glad that they all call you Old Bach, 



Old Bach ! Ugh I how detestable the 

Ab for rejecting that fair daughter, (the 
first and last chance yon ever have had or 
win haYe, perhaps,) may yon erer be com* 
pelled to wear toeless stockings, bnttonless 
pantaloons, torn coats, rumpled dickeys, 
and nnhemmed pocket handkerchief ; and 
may yon ever receive that complimentary 
and deffirable(r) title, <<Oli> Bach "I — 
And that yon may never know the happi- 
Def» of the fireside— that you may ever 

be tormented with the (heml) rheunMr 
tism I that yon may never get a dear, pret- 
ty, loving wife, who would watch for yonr 
coming, and be saddened when 'yon left 
home, and who would call yon her ** dar- 
ling husband,'' and prepare your chair and 
slippers, and sit by your sick bed, and 
soothe your temples with her little snowy 
hand, (wasn't Miss Buckheart's such an 
one ?) and at any time anticipated your 
eveiy wish — is the sincere wish (I) of an 
indignant female 1 1 1 Euoskib. 

Sftii Fmndaoo, Aug. 0, 1867. 

CE>\siis> GBcDcsfiLaill CSBQasiSLXPo 

A gentleman residing at Springfield, Tu- 

olomne county, has Rent us a copy of a 

fpiaint old almanac, with the accompanying 

letter, which, althoagh somewhat personal, 

explains itself : — 

J. M. HcTGHixos, Esq.— Dear Sir :— I take 
pleasore in forwarding yon a literary pro- 
daction, the peruAal of which I trust will 
iflord yon some amusement and interest, 
from its antiquity and the singular coinci- 
deoce, which will associate itaelf in your 
Bind, in connection with ^our present per- 
4aiti! in California. I call it a literary pro- 
duction from the fact that it contains much 
ralaable Information for the latitude of New 
Vork City, and many well written articles 
for the amusement of the denizens of that 
metTopoU»^iMfne years ago I In short, Mr. 
Editor, it is what would be called, in com- 
mon parlance, an almanac, but which reads 
a« follows: — "Hntchins Improved: being 
aa Almanack and Ephemeris of the motions 
of the Snn and Moon ; the true places and 
a^^>ecti) of the Planets ; the rising and setting 
of the Son; and the rising, setting, and 
<mthfaig of the Moon, for the year of our 
Lord 1806 : being the second after Bissextile 
or Lei^KYear, and 30th Tear of American 
htdtptidenee^ 'till 4th July. Containing, 
al«o, the Lunations, Conjunctions, Eclipses, 
Jadgment of the Weather, Rising^and Set- 
ting of the Planets, Length of i)ayB and 
Vij^tii, Courts, Roads, ^. Together with 
ai«fal Tables, entertaining Remarks, Ac. &c. 
By John Nathan Hntchins. Pbilom. New 
York : Printed and sold by Ming and Young, 
f Snooenors to Hugh Chains,) No. 102 Water 
Street : Where may be had the 'New-York 
Pocket Almanac.'' Hoping that it may in- 
*4n^*5t. I take permiaaon to inclose it 

Re^ieetftdly, Pi*nrr. 


P. S.— Will you be kind enongh to inlbrm 
me, in the next number of your Magasine, if 
the author of the above was your father, 
grand-father, or oousin-german. P. 

Pliny, we thank yon for thinking of ns ; 
but among other questions in your P. S., why 
did yon omit to ask if we were not the veri- 
table " Almanack" man, himself? Why not? 
It is oidy fifty-one years ago ! We have a 
near and dear relative, still living, we hope 
and pray, who is in her eighty-third year ; — 
therefore, as it was not an impossibilitj, do 
you not think that you reflected somewhat 
upon our patriarchal proclivities, by its 
omission ? But we forgive yon 1 as we re- 

It is barely possible that our father, grand- 
father, or some one of our many cousins may 
have crossed the threshold of 102 Water 
street, and then and there have teen the 
enterprising publisher of '^Hntchins' Im- 
proved," but that any farther relationship 
should exist, we think somewhat improba- 
ble, for the simple reason that he was rich — 
camparatively — and rich people seldom ac- 
knowledge having any poor relations. More- 
over, as poor people, who claim any relation- 
ship to rich people, are generally looked 
upon as very simple as well as very stupid ; 
and as we are doubtless simple enough and 
stupid enough without being coniddered In 
the comparative degree—more simple or more 
stupid — we are willing to wait until the Pa- 
cific Railroad is finished, when, if people 



flock to California by the thousand, they 
will probably buy Hutchings' California 
Magazine by the — single number — if not 
by the hundred; and as It is hoped by 
that time that agents and others will be 
willing to do a cash business, and pay for 
what they get, without waiting for our 
" Please remit, and oblige, etc., etc," we 
shall then have hopes of being able, by ten 
or fifteen years additional hard labor, to save 
enough to live at ease, or die without the re- 
gret (if we ever have any) that previously 
• we Were too poor to acknowledge any rela- 
tionship to the publisher of *^ Hutchins' Im- 
proved Almanack, etc.'- 

The following interesting pieces from it, 
will show that " John Nathan Hutchins, Phi- 
lom," in the year 1806, had an appreciating 
eye for the ridiculous, as well as for the 
quaint and pathetic, and which we give to 
the readers of our Social Chair in 1857 : — 


A T the world's end, the Essex side of 
J\ Gravesend : to be sold at auction, by 
WTNeversell, on Monday the 32d lust. The 
sale to begin at ten o'clock in the afternoon. 

Jjot 1. A copper cart-saddle, a leather 
handsaw, 2 woolen frying pans, and a glass 

Lot 2. 3 pair of pea-straw breeches, a 
china quarry cart, and 2 glass bedsteads with 
copper hangings. 

Lot 3. One pitch-pine coal-grate, with pa- 
per smoke-jack, a mahogany poker, and a 
pair of gauze bellows. 

Lot 4. One leather teakettle ; an iron 
feather bed, 6 pair of brass boots, and a 
steel nightcap : also 1 pewter waistcoat and 
3 flint wigs, a bellmetal sieve and a caliman- 
co hogtrough. a buckram warming pan and 
a pewter looking glass, a japan beetle and a 
leather wedge, 3 silk hog-yokes and a pinch- 
beck swill tub, 4 sheepskin milkpails and a 
wheat straw trammel, a lambskin grindstone 
and a muslin hatchet, a pair of pewter pud- 
ding bags and a canvas gridiron, a dimity 
coalscuttle and 3 satin chamberjngs, a wood- 
en timber chain and a brass cartrope. 

But the man'ow and point contained in 

the sketch below, of the " world-regenerating 

principle" known as Love, may suggest an 

ixMjuiry as to its extent in the present age. 

We may admire it for its quaintness, if we 

fail to recognize its applicability to our- 

Belves I 


Love is like the devil, because it tor- 
ments ; like heaven, because it wraps the 

soul in bliss ; like salt, because it is relish- 
ing: like pepper, because it often sets one 
on fire : like sugar, because it is sweet ; like 
a rope, because it is often the death of a man ; 
like a prison, because it makes a man mise- 
rable j like wine, because it makes us hap- 
py : like a man, because he is here to^y 
ana gone to-morrow j like a woman, because 
there is no getting nd of her ; like a diip, 
because it guides one to the wished for port ; 
like a Will o' th' wisp, because it often leads 
one into a bog ; like a fierce courser, be- 
cause it often runs away with one : like the 
bite of a mad dog, or like the kiss of a pretty 
woman, because they both make a man run- 
mad : like a goose, because it is silly ; like 
a rabbit, because there is nothing like it. In 
a word, it is like a ghost, because it is like 
every thing, and like nothing ; often talked 
about, but never seen, touched, nor under- 

There are but few who will read the fol- 
lowing touching recital, from the same old 
^* Almanack," without feeling heart-sad at 
its lamentable termination : — 


A young gentleman, who, a fsw yean 
since, lived in London, who had made his 
addresses to an agreeable young lady, and 
won her heart ; also obtained the consent of 
her father, to whom she was an only child. 
The old gentleman had a fancy to have them 
married at the same parish-church, where he 
himself was, at a village in Westmoreland, 
and they accordingly set out, he being at 
the same time indisposed with the gout at 

The bridegroom took only his man, and 
the bride her maid ] and they had a most 
agreeable joumev to the place appointed, 
from whence the bridegroom wrote the fol- 
lowing letter to his wife's fkther, viz. : 


After a very piMMmt Jouniej hither, we are pre* 
parlog Ibr the happy hour. In which I am to be your 
■on. I asnire you, the bxide caniei it^ in the eye of 
the Tioar who married yon, much beyond her moth* 
er ; though, he says, your open ileeTes, pantalooni, 
and vhouider-knot, made a much better ihow then 
the finical dress I am in. However, I am oootentcd 
to be the second fine man this TiUage ever saw, and 
shall make it jtrj merry befbre night, because I shall 
write myself from thenor. 

Tour moct dutiful son, T^^^- D 

P. S. The bride siTes her duty, and la as handsome 
as an angel. 1 am the hapidett man breathing. 

The villagers were assembled about the 
church, and the happy couple took a walk in 
a private garden. The bridegroom's servant 
knew his master would leave the place very 
soon after the wedding was over, and seeing 
him draw his pistols the night before, took 
an opportunity of going into his chamber, 
and charged them again. 

Upon their return from the garden, they 
went into that room, and after a little fond 
raillery on the sufciject of their courtship, 



the bridegroom took up one of the pistols, 
which he knew he had unloaded the night 
before, and presented it to her, and said with 
the most graceflil air, whilst she looked 
pleased at bis agreeable flattery, Now, mad- 
am, repent of all those cruelties you have 
been guilty of to me ; consider, before you 
die, how often you have made a poor wretch 
freeze under your casement : you shall die, 
you tyrant, you shall die, with all those in- 
stmraente of death and destruction about 
you, with that enchanting smile, those kill- 
ing ringlets of your hair. 

Give fire, said she, laughing. He did so, 
and shot her dead. Who can speak his con- 
dition? But he bore it so patiently as to 
call up his man. The poor wretch entered, 
and his master locked the door upon him. 
Will, 8Md he, did you charge these pistols ? 
He answered. Tee : upon which his master 
ffaot him dead with that remaining. 

After this, amidst a thousand broken sobs, 
piercing groans, and distracted motions, he 
wrote the following to the father of his dead 

I, who two bonn ago told you tml j I wm the hap> 
amu alive, em now the most imtereble. Your 
dtofhtor liee deed et mj&et, killed by my own 
basd, thx& e mitttake of my men'a charging my pia- 
lola naknowD to me : I have murdered him for it. 

8adk ia my wedding day.^ ^I will immediately ibl- 

low mj wUb to the grsTe. Bat before I throw myaelf 
«pon my awoid, I eommand my diatraction so &r as 
ta estate ay atnnr to yon. I fear my heart will not 
keep feD^tber tfll I hare stabbed it Poor, good old 
man! tern— her, that he who killed your daughter 
4kd ftrlL In the article of death I give yon thanks, 
and pcay tot yon, tho^ I dare not pray Ibr myself. If 
ft bo posaihle, do not cnrae me. 

Vanwell fcreter. T. D. 

This being finished, he put an end to his 
life ; and afterward, the body of the servant 
was interred in the village where he was 
killed, and the young couple, attended by 
the maid, were brought to London, and pri- 
vately Interred in one grave, in the parish 
the itthappy father resided in. 

Tom we now from the above lamentable 

%to see, from the same source, 
bow some of the old-fashioned gluttons pro- 
vided for the inner man in their day and 
generation. Heaven help the stomach and 
the oooks with snch^ 


If the duke of Queensbury does not ex- 
tend hiB life to a still longer period, it will 
not be for want of culinary comforts, and 
those other succulent arts by which longev- 
ity p] is promoted. His grace's sustenance is 
thus daily administered: At seven in the 
maming, he regales in a warm milk bath, 
perfumed with almond i)owder, where he 
t^tes his cofl^ and a butter muffin, and af- 
terwards retires to his bed ; he rises about 
nine, and breakfiists on <xfe de4aitf with new 
lud eggi JQEi par-boiled ; at eleven he is 

presented with two warm jellies and rusques ; 
at one he eats a veal cutlet, a la Matntmon ; 
at three, jellies and eggs, repeated ; at 
five, a cup of chocolate and rusques ; at 
half after seven he takes a hearty din- 
ner from high seasoned dishes, and makes 
suitable libations of Claret and Madeira ; at 
ten, coffee and muffins ; at twelve, sups off a 
roasted pullet, with a plentiful dilution of 
rum punch ; at one in the morning he re- 
tires to bed in high spirits, and sleeps till 
three, when his man cook, to the moment, 
waits upon him in person with a hot and sa- 
vory veal-cutlet, which with a potion of 
wine and water, prepares him for his further 
repose, that continues generally uninter- 
rupted till the morning summons him to his 
lactean bath. In this routine of living com- 
forts are the fonr-and-twenty hours invari- 
ably divided : so that if his grace does not 
know, with Sir Toby Belch, that our lives 
are composed of the four elements, he knows 
at least, with Sir Andrew Aguecheek, that 
it consists of eating and drinking I 

Doings wants to know if people who reside 
in the heart of a city, must as a natural con- 
sequence be " well (red) read." 


San Francisco, Aug. 2, 1857. 

Dear Brothers: — Sunday is here again, 
and a lovely day it is too, with the pure blue 
heavens above, happy hearts below, and a 
flood of golden sunlight pouring over all. 
Everything seems full of loveliness: and 
every one appears to wear a peaceful coun- 
tenance, and to possess a joyous heart. My 
little canaries are singing softly and sweetly, 
and the delightfully refreshing sea breeze 
is wafting health and coolness through the 
streets, and playing round the corners ; while 
here I sit at the writing-desk in my room 
with the long French window thrown open 
on the little up stairs piazza which overloolu 
onr Bay and city, from Russian Hill away 
for miles beyond Rincon Point. On the 
bosom of the water lie large sailing vessels, 
steamers, and boats of every kind. Here 
the shadow of a great hill falls upon the 
water, and a little craft with a pretty 
wliite spreading sail skips o'er the waves and 
through the sunlight, and anchors in that 
sliady nook. There the Ferry-boat goes 
splashing and dashing through the Bay — 
leaving behind it a long line of white foam, 
and many fairy-Uke boats dance on the sur- 
fi&ce of the water, almost causing m^to 
think that they are such, because I possess an 
extensive imagination and often indulge it to 
such an extent as to fancy myself a fairy I 
Now isn't that funny ? The idea of my be- 
ing the like, when I'm such a mad-cap I 
But I can't help thinking of such things some- 
times, especially when I at in the parlor at 



twilight hooT) and close my eyes, and listen 
to the sweet vibratioDS of my .£olian harp 
as they fall npon my ear, now quite load, 
then lower, then dyinp; awi^ In the distance, 
sounding like the music of ntr-off angels, till 
it is entirely gone. • 

I wish that some of you were here, and 
if you were pretty good (but of course you're 
alt good — and VfOiy too, perhaps !) we'd go 
to church together this lovely day, and when 
you would hear the deep toned organ playing, 
you'd forget the Galiiomia mountains and 
fluicy that you were at home with your^otpn 
idflter9, instead of your adopted sister May, 
— wouldn't you? and only think what an 
excellent opportunity you'd have of looking 
off your hvmn-boook in a aUmtendikUar di- 
rection at the pretty young ladies ! 

Ah ha I that sets you to thinking — so I'll 
stop my nonsense, and go to church, and 
when I come back, I'll finish. 

I've returned, eaten my dinner, read, and 
now will continue my letter. I heard a fine 
sermon delivered 1^ the good and eloquent 

Rev. , and Billy wants to know if I 

did n't feel too religiously inclined to write 
letters on Sunday alter that. But I tell him 
if I was not doinff this — and it 's such a 
pleasant way to while away the time — ^I'd 
probably be at something worse. 

And now for that good and kind response, 
I'm going to thank and to say a few words 

Dear Brother Frank: — You don't know 
how happily surprised I was when I opened 
the Magazine and saw your reply to my first. 
I thought that the letter had accomplished 
its mission. 

I am glad to find that it has awakened 
such a goodly feeling in one heart — and 
hope that it has in many. It contained but 
the spontaneous outbursts of girlish thought 

— and if they were appreciated as much 
by you as was yours by me — then I'm 

1 do honor the miner, and love to think of 
him and of his mountain home. 

I once had two dear cousins in the mines ; 
and soon after they had rejoined the loved 
at home they forgot for a time the wild 
mountains of CaUfomia, so happy were thcv, 

— but, ere long, one of them, of the gentle 
kind that God loves ; he with the beautiful 
eyes, the curly brown hair, and the manly 
look ; when the fragrant flowers of summer 
were fading and passing from the sunny hill- 
sides, and the light of day was melting away, 
be sweetly BDUied, and fell asleep to awake 
1a heaven. 

The other one with his young and lovely 
wife» has removed far away. 

So you would reallylike to have, me look 
in your little caUn. Well, I'll tell you what 
I'd do. I wouldn't only peep, but I'd enter — 
that is if you'd let me ; and I'd bring three 
or Umx girls with ma— so that we could have 
agkuioiu lot of ftin. Then in the day- 

time when you were at work, we'd find where 
the sweetest perfiuned flowers and the pret- 
tiest evergreens grew, and nukke tunic 
wreaths, and bouquets, and decorate the 
cabin so that it would look ' like a shady ar- 
bor with sunny hearts within it. 

Then in the evening — have you any mo- 
lasses ! up or down there ? if so, we'd make 
Thffey enough to last a month ! Then— do 
you know how to play blind-man's buff ? 
wouldn't we put on our little heeled slippers 
to keep from making a noise (but pshaw ! 
what'd be the use? — yours is a dirt floor) 
Then the fun would commence. I almost 
fancy I see it now. Over goes a chair, down 
goes a water bucket ; bang ! goes the blind- 
man's head against the door, caused by your 
pulling his coat-tail ; and crack ! goes your 
big blue porter-house-steak didi ; and so we'd 
have a place for nothing and notMng in its 
place. Then we'd salt your tea ! and give 
you vinegar for wine, sew up your best coat 
pockets, containing your Havanas and white 
pocket-handkerchief, so that when yon would 
start off courting on Sunday mormng, you'd 
get angry and wish us back again at the Bay. 
(and in it, perhaps.) 

But you would n't stay angry long, would 
you, Brother Frank ? 

Because I might go with you to the grave 
of some old, beloved companion of yours, 
and sing, " Strike the Harp gently," or in 
the cabin, " Home, sweet Home ;" " Shells 
of Ocean ;" Maggie's by my side ;" " Willie, 
we have missed yon ;" or my favorite, <' An- 
nie Laurie ;" and then, when your good na- 
ture was restored, we'd all sing in c^nu, 
'' Ri-tu-ri," or some other funny song. What 
think you? 

But it is growing late. Permit me again 
to thank yon for your response, and to say 
that I shall anxiously await your next. 

And now, dear Brothers, to all a land good 
night. May guardian angels hover near, and 
your dreams be sweet ; may your thoughts 
often be directed to home, to Heaven — and 
sometimes to the writer. 

Good night I The ling'ring tone that 
mem'ry loves. Grood night I 

Sister Mat. 

The following was told to us a few days 
since, at the expense of the good old Maj. 
R., well imown to every one who has heard 
of him, as an honest polUieian. The M^jor 
was, a few years since, a resident of Texas, 
and entirely ignorant of everything relating 
to "KeardB." It seems that some people 
down there, doubted this, and determined 
on the first occasion to sound the nuyor. 
Not long after, an opportunity offered, and 
he was addressed as follows : *^ They tell us, 
miyor, that you can't tell one card from the 
other ; how is it ? " " That's a fact, gen- 
tlemen," was the reply ; " I don't know but 
one card in the deck, and that's the tramp 
— the one with the eagle on it.'' (I) 




Iliti eye was stern and wild ; liis cheek 
Wm pale ; and cold as clay, 

L^pon his tig hCened lips, a smile 
or dreadful meaning lay. 

Ue mused awhile, but not in doubt, — 
No trace of doubt was there; 

it was the steady, solemn pause 
Of resolute despair. 

Once more he looked upon the scroll, 
Ooce more its words he read ; 

Then calmly, with unflinching hands. 
Its folds before him spreac^ 

I saw him bare his throat, and seize 
The blue, cold, glittering steel, 

.ind grimly try the tempered edge 
He was so soon to feel. 

A sickness crept upon my heart, 

And dizzy swam my head ; 
I could not stay, I could not cry, 

I felt benumbed and dead. 

Black, icy horror struck me dumb, 

And froze my senses o'er ; 
I closed my eyes in utter fear, 

And strove to think no more. 

Again I looked : a fearful change 

Across his face had passed; 
He seemed to gasp — on cheek and lip 

A flaky foam was cast. 

He raised on high the glittering steel ; 

Then first I found my tongue : 
'^ Hold 1 madman ! stay thy frantic deed ! " 

I cried, as forth I sprung. 

He heard me, but he heeded not ; 

One glance around he gave, 
And ere I could arrest his hand — 

He had begun to shave. 

€i!M& %ixiik 

Thk comiko ELEcmox.--Before we again 
meet our readers to give them monthly 
greeting or admonition, the elcetion wiU be 
•lecided. To the true patriot who loves his 
country for her own sake (and not for what 
can be taken from her) the coming election 
tM of paramount importance The past blind 
foUowing of interested party leaders, and the 
tifcfat drawing of party lines, by which. so 
many inefficient and unworthy men have 
\nica elevated from little less than loaferiam 
u» the most important offices in the gift of 
the people, we hope has effectually convinced 
food men that a change has become an abso- 
lute neceflBity of the times, if Califomia is 
•'ver to rise again from her political degra- 
dation. Let that change now come. H^te 
lit obtain gold, that men might live at case 
io jfomc other land, has been the cause of the 
political interests of our own California being 
intmated to persons, with but few exceptions, 
who. not being able to make a living by their 
o«-n ridll and labor, have sought to aerve 
their country I — ^heaven save the mark. Now, 
we repeat, let the change come. Vote orUp 
fhr able, high-minded, and moral men, of 
good bosiness knowledge and ability ; and 
who, having all their interests in this State, 

will labor heart and soul, by day or night, 
to make Califomia what she ought to be. 

The Industrial Exhibition op 1857 in 
San Francisco.— On the seventh of the pres- 
ent month will the experiment be tried if 
California can produce anything worthy of 
her vast resources. This exhibition invites 
the deep-toned voice of Progress to speak for 
herself, and say if she is willing to produce 
that which she consumes. It asks that her 
children, as an united family of men, should 
say "we will depend upon ourselves for 
what we need ; and while we are willing to 
extend our arms, in love and charity, to the 
world, we will endeavor to retain our treas- 
ures within our family circle, and not im- 
poverish our own land and people by en- 
riching others — ^at least to the extent of [four 
millions of dollars a month. Wc need the 
money to build canals, and work-shops, and 
railroads, and steamships ; and to engage in 
a thousand other enterprises which, while 
they teach us economy and prudence, enable 
us to cultivate the manly virtue of self- 

We have a variety of materials in our State, 
then why should they not be taken care of 
by a jndiciotis use ? We have the best work- 



xnea and mechanics of all kinds and coun- 
tries in the world, then why should we send 
abroad for manufactures? 

What, therefore, dear reader, let us in ear- 
nestness ask, are you seeking to produce? 
what genius nrc you striving to foster and 
encourage ? what resources are you assisting 
to open and develope ? We invite that your 
reply be the articles you produce, as an in- 
dividual, for the future benefit of yourself, 
your children, aud the State of your adop- 

At the close of the present month will 
open the State Agricultural Fair. Perhaps 
your preferences may run in that direction — 
well, it is the same to Progress, only do 
Bomething, and begin at once. 

Our Metallic Besocbces, etc. — But few, 
perhaps, remember the variety of the metallic 
productions of our possessions on the Pacific. 

Everybody knows that the precious metal 
is almost everywhere diffused throughout 
the State, (from the * color ' to very rich leads 
in sorfiEtce, hill, river and quartz diggings.) 

SUver has been discovered in Calaveras and 
Tuolumne counties ; Copper in Hope Valley, 
and in Butte, Nevada and San Diego coun- 
ties ; Iron near Auburn, Placer county, and 
from one end of the Coast Range to the oth- 
er ; Coal at Coose Bay, and Table Moontain, 
(Butte county) ; StUphate of Iron, Magndit 
Iron, and Cfypsum near Santa Cruz; Platinum 
on the Salmon, South Fork of Trinity, Mid- 
dle Fork of American and Calaveras rivers, 
and on Butte, Honcut, Cafion and Wood's 
creeks ; Cfromium in Sierra, Placer, Nevada, 
and El Dorado counties ; Ntekd in Contra 
Costa and Monterey counties ; Antimony in 
the Monte Diablo range ; Cinnabar at New 
Almaden, Guadalupe and American Valley ; 
Marble at Suisun City, Ringgold, Volcano, 
and fifty other places ; OranUe almost every- 
where ; Burr Stone in any quantity on Pitt 
River; Soapstone between Deer Creek and 
Bear River. These and numerous other 
kinds and varieties have been already dis- 
covered, and unite to ask, " What use are 
you going to make of us?'' We shall see. 


T, — ^Yes ; at least we think so. 

Jerry W., Napa, — We will answer your ques- 
tion by asking another. Why do two boats 
sail in opposite directions when driven by 
the same wind ? 

T. B. Z.— Did yoii fall into the inkstand, and 
afterwards make a pen of your finger- 
nails ? 

D, S. M. — ^We will write you. Your pieces 
came safely to hand. 

A Subscriber and weUrvMer is informed that 
his self-love, prejudice and presumption, 
render his opinions utterly unworthy of 
respect. We do not thank him for his 
views — simply because they savor of 
" cat's-paw" service. Moreover, we think 
that his communication is suggestive that 
* what he donH know would make a very large 
book ' ! and none might discover it sooner 
than himself, did he ever look outside of 
the limited circumference of his own little 
world. We therefore say, in the lan- 
guage of the immortal Mr. Toots, " its of 
no consequence." 

Mary T. — ^It will appear in due season. We 
cannot, you know, insert every article we 
receive, at once. 

T. R F, — "May" is certainly four months 
too late, and would be rathar reversing the 
order of things to appear in September ; 
although the lines are very good. 

L, iV. B.j Honey Lake Valley. — ^Not this sum- 
mer ; although we should like much to 
visit Hieroglyphic Caiion and other inter- 
esting places near you, in company witii 
Mr. Lassen and others. Many thanks for 
your kind invitation. 

R. B. — Your " Occidental Imagininpi" must 
be laid by for a time, as we are m hopes 
that the new improvements now being 
made in first class balloons will enable us 
to reach (at least in comprehension) the 
"bespangled elysium" "out West" of 
your aspirations. We like traveling, well 
enough, but before starting we always like 
to see what the chances are for getting 
back again. Please inform us of this, and 
it's all right I 

J, P.J Russian River. — ^Your stanzas nearly 
gave us the tooth-ache, to read them. They 
are ex-cru-ci-a-tine-ly put — no, not put, 
but ^rown — togemer. Declined. 

Joe. — ^All right. Don't forget to make aotes 
and sketches by the way. 

.i.— Very good. Next month. 



£ B. P. — "Tbe HoanUnp," reminded na or 
a rfcin.m.n'a ecooomy Id ba^iaK bcKita — 
■Imji chooeing the UrgeBt p^r, in order 
tb>t he may get Ihe irorth of his money 
Tweotj ^ILibles in one liae of poetry] 
tnd twentj-eeTen(teen 1) or thereabouts, in 
uotber, U a little too mnch — even of a 
good thiDg— Tor one time. Just get U 
liandated into Chinese, there's a good fel- 
low I and then — born it 

L. A. G^ Oiliest RamlL—lM not forgotten. 

KtftiTKD. — " Ereniags with the Poets ;" 
"An Omnibus Hide;" " Snakes;" "Our 
Cabin :"' •' Who 1 am ;" etc,, etc 


Hr. FUmpUns, tbe coonbr^ gentleman on 
■ Ttdt to tbe city, after losing the principal 
part of his wardrobe by hack, flood, and &re, 
being bonied out from his twenty-five-cent- 
•■night lodgings within three houre after his 
■rriral, seeks now quarters ; haa a cariosity 
oeit morning to visit the Kenc of the second 
of his last night's diBasters. Proceeds to tbe 
itml; but finding that he attracts an un- 
lunal degree of attention fh)m some cause, 
Rwlvca ta retnm and remain in close quar- 
ter* till he receives fVom his friends in the 
cmniry k new sopply of dust 

Mr. Flimpkins is not a borrower of money, 
noi bt' ; could have brought down a cool 
Ibouund or two with him bad be supposed 
it could ponibly hsve wanted it. 

As the pecuniary tide seems to be rather 
••iiing against him just now, resolves to 
crooooiiae in his new suit ; gets it made to 
orJ T, out of the smallest quantity of mate- 
rial poariblr. 

Has noticed that verj 
many who consider 
themselves gentlemen, 
carry bowie knives and 
revolvers ; thinks they 
may as well be carried 
where they can be seen ; 
dont believe In carry- 
ing concealed weap- 

Is now prepared to 
see the sights ; takes a 
turn through Clay and 
Montgomery streets ; 
sees beautiful women 
in the «bop windows, 
who, attracted by his 
presence — he thinkS'— 
turn slowly round and 
0, look at him ; being 
wuniiiB. very modest and re- 

tiring, wishes to be excosed, remarks, " Ton 
look as nice as wax, ma'am," and passes on ; 
meets something coming towards him ; fear- 
ing it may prove some city iastltntion, he 
throws himself into position to let it pass. 

Consults a lawyer as to whether a rotunda, 
dome, or cupola witb a vain (vane) on It, 
x an obstruction to a sidewalk! Sup- 
1 a ca«e, thus : to roll a whisky barrel 
IS a sidewalk is no obstruction ; but set 
that barrel on end, to remain standing in 
the line of travel, and it becomes an ob- 
struction, a nuisancf . 
Mr. Flimpkins wondera if the rale which 

Spiles to whisky barrels will apply to mm, 
10 habitually occupy, as flitures, the side- 
walks in the line of travel, to the ereat In- 
enience of th; rnm-ing masses : has been 
told that $Di/toim never do it | thinks gen- 
tlemen should reflect on such subjects here. 
Mr. Flimpkins takes a turn on tbe Floza, 
where be brushes (Vom tbe bock of a lady's 
head what be supposes to be a yellow hor- 
net, and pnts his foot on it 


ted. ConcludeB they are some citj inBUtn- 
Hon ; wont go near the Theatre on that ac- 
count ; peifectl; aUiora them, ae do mo)4 
senrible people, this evetlMtlng round of 
upongiog, in the came of " benefits." 

Mr. Flimpkinn takes an evening walk : 
hears mnelc down cellar ; rocs down ; finds 
alot of fellowBHwinglng girls aronnd; thinki' 
he would like a turn at it ; picks for one 
according tohiti strength ; findaafbll match. 

The lady is incensed at the Inagnity 
offered her, and injury done to her bonnet ; 
has no protector ; calli for the police ; de- 
clares she will have him arrested for assault, 
and Cooo-ed immediately. 

Don't know esactly what it la to be Ooon- 
ed ; fears it may have some connection with 
city institationa ; so apologises for his mis- 
take, offers to make restitution, and hands 
out a X, with which the lady seems sati" 
fled, and haatenshome to repair damages. 

Mr.FIimpkina, on escaping the handset 
the police, really thinks the lady behaved 

ly ; he would 

like to know 

more of her ; 

. follows her 

at a distance, 

J but suddenly 

"• loses Bight of 

~, her ; hastens 

~ np and seer 

grated pan 
r el In a door 

U thinks it may 
^be to look 

\ thro' ; peeps 

' ciirod a partial 

inwde view of 

, , another city 

Is not particularly pleased at the result, 
a> it costs him another X to obtain his re- 
lease and diploma ; and yet, is of opinion 
that he escapes — though with bis nose lUglUly 
Injured — far better than many who have in- 
dulged the same curioBity that he did. 

Mr. FlimpkinB bos seen BKSEFrta adver- 
tlsed on Theatre bulletin boards, nearly 
every day since hin arrival in the city ; woci- 
ders what they are ; thinks if they arc any- 
thing worse or more ferocious than a grizzly, 
he would like to see one. Ih told that they 
are, by one who knows ; that they are the 
grejiteHt borw with which the city i" infen- 

Wolks np to nettle for the dance ; miRsr^ 
his pnrse ; thinks it fiew ont of bis pocket 
when the ^1 whirled him bo ; another gm- 
lionon just leaving the door, lAinib it hap- 
pened about a minute before he took the 

Begins to enspect he has found another 
city institution ; on being kicked out fornot 
paying his bill, ia certain of it. Is gettinjr 
perfectly diBgusted with city life and inirti- 
tutions ; resolves to leave at 4 o'clock. P. 
M.. next day. 

Is introduced to Mr. Simples, a city gen- 
tleman, about to viat the mines and moun- 
tains for the flrel time, and who would like t<i 
get some information on mining sulgecU. 

Mr. Flimpkins informs Mr. Simples thai 
there are no mbjeds in the mines ; that tbey 
are all sovereigns, like himself. Mr. Simplp= 
stands corrected, bcgn a thousand peirdonF. 
and asks him to " imbibe." Mr. Flimpkins 
Bccepti, and they drink. Is informed by 
Mr. Simples that ho is now ia a free-liinch 
institute, where broken down gamblers, bab- 
bling politicians and incurable idlcn or' 
fed ; but upon wboBC bounty, or for whw 
actual benefit, is not, ho thiokB, quite »i 
clear, Mr. Flimpkins begs leave^ to «ilh- 
draw ; does fio, congratulaUng himwif on 
having ereaped from one city institution 
without cost ; thinks better of it than snr 
other he has met with, on that accouul- 
lloth gentlemen now proceed to the Iw^it, 
Mr. Flimpkins on his way home, Mr. Sim|)li'- 
to visit the mines, and Imtli have promi«f^i 
US an early account of their adventure*. 



Vol n. OOTOBBR, 1867- No « 




Qnarta mining baying ceased as a spec- 
ulation, to become a bosiness of profit and 
permanencj, is again enlisting the atten- 
tion and confidence of all classes to its im- 
portance. The losses and disappointments 
of its pioneers in the years 1851, *52, and 
'53, -~ originating, in most cases, from the 
excitement of its discorerers, and the in- 
experience of its principal owners and di- 
rectors, — caused a temporary lull in the 
fitith and enthTisiasm of the public, to the 
great neglect of this exhaustless golden 
treasury : but as many of the quartz leads, 
then opened, proved very rich in the pre- 
cious metal, they enabled their owners to 
make many experiments for working the 
quartz to advantage, by the invention and 
perfection of machinery for crushing the 
rock, and saving the gold ; and thus, while 
securing a personal advantage to them- 
selves, they have been instromentalin rescu- 
ing the quartz interest in this State from 
the oblivion into which, doubtless, it would 
have sunk, for a season, had all the ficpt 
attempts to make its working profitable 

The dearly-bought experience of the 
past in this branch of our State's wealth, 
now enables the practical worker in quartz 
generally to determine the quality of the 
rock placed before him, at a glance, and 
with the same accuracy and certainty as 
an experienced purchaser of goldrdust can 
decide the quality and mint value of the 
parcel of dust he is about to buy — or, as a 
merchant, by examination, knows the qual- 
ity of the article offered him, and what is 
its market value — or, as a tailor knows 
the exact quality of a piece of cloth ; or 
a lady the materials of her dress. This 
becomes to the inexperienced quartz miner 
somewhat like the knowledge of an effi- 
cient pilot at sea, it enables him to steer 
his vessel clear of those rocks upon which 
others have gone to pieces. It may be well 
that this should be remembered, inasmuch 
as '* seeing the gold " is not always a sure 
sign that the )ead can be wrought with ad- 
vantage and profit. In many of the rich* 

est kinds of rock it has been almost im- 
possible to see gold ; while in some known 
as pocket-Iead-rock, considerable has been 
visible ] and yet a sufficient amount has 
not been taken therefirom to pay the cost 
of getting and crushing it. 

In the best land of leads there is often 
a large amount of rock which is utterly 
worthless ; and which has to be taken firom 
the vein, when known to be unproductive, 
that workmen maybe enabled to reach the 
paying rock,' and work to advantage. It 
often occurs, too, that even good paying 
leads are not scientifically and economi- 
cally worked ; and, as a consequence, do 
not insure a generous return to the own- 
ers, for their time and trouble. 

Then again, as some good rock is soft, 
and other hard, it is not to be anpposed 
that the hard can be either quarried or 
crushed as easily as the soft. Therefore, 
the amount per ton being- the same, the 
cost of extraction is diffisrent, and the 
profits arising therefrom, as a matter of 
course, will differ in proportion. 

Some persons having crushed rock that 
was exceedingly rich, with more pride (or 
self-interest) than truthfulness, reported 
such to be the average yield ; when, per- 
haps a tenth part of that amount would be 
nearer the net product of their mine. By 
these exaggerations a few years ago much 
disastrous speculation was fostered and 
encouraged ^ and which, doubtless, mate- 
rially retarded the development of this 
branch of mining. As quartz is now be- 
coming a steady and profitable business, 
no respectable company attempts to exag- 
erate the product of their lead ; but rather, 
like all other good business men, seek to 
keep their business to themselves, prefer- 
ing to under than over state the yield. 

As the position of a quartz lead in the 
mountain is generally at an angle of from 
twenty to fifty degrees, the most common 
method of working it is to sink a perpen- 
dicular shaft at a sufficient distance from 
the line where the vein is seen to '* crop 
out " on the mr&ce, and strike the angle 


VUMMTaa quivn a_jXM tuv. 



when we Mrired at the drift where the men 
were at work, we had a sufficient supply of 
waterfor drinking purposes (!) in the pockets 
of our coat. The miners who were removing 
the quartz from the Iddge, looked more like 
half drowned searlioas, than men. We did 
not make ourselyes inquisitive enough to ask 
the amount of wages they received, but we 
came to the conclusion that they must cer- 
tainly earn whatever they obtained. Stoop* 
ing, or rather half lying down upon the 
wet rock, among fragments of quartz and 
props of wood, and streams of water; with 
pick in handy and by a dim but waterproof 
lantern, giving out a very dim and watery 
light, just about bright enough, or rather 
dim enough, and watery enough, as Mil- 
ton expresses it, ** to make darkness vis- 
ible,'' a m^n was at work, picking down 
the rock — the gold-bearing rock — and 
which, although very rich, was very rotten, 
and consequently not only paid well, but 
was easily quarried, and easily crushed ; 
and although this rock was paying not less 
than three hundred and fifty dollars per 
ton, we could not see the first speck of gold 
in it, after a diligent search for that pur- 

At the bottom of the drift another man 
was employed to shovel the quartz into a 
tub standing on a railway car, and push it 
to the shaft, where it was drawn up and 
taken to the milL 

It has been a matter of much anxiety 
and discussion to know if the gold-bearing 
quartz would extend below the decom- 
posed rock ; and, if so, whether or not the 
rock would not become too hard and too 
difficult to quarry, and remove to the mill 
with profit. We know of but two companies 
in Nevada county who have mined through 
the decomposed rock into the volcanic, 
and these are the Sebcuiopol and Oabomc 
ffiUj about a couple of miles east of Ghrass 
Yalley, Nevada county ; both of these com- 
panies being at work in the greenstone. 

We had the satis&ction of descending 
the Osborne Hill lead, under the guidance 
of Mr. CroBsetty and, after bumping the 

head against the rocky roof above, and 
holding on by our feet to die wet and slip- 
pery roof of rock below, on which we were 
descending, at an angle of forty-two de- 
grees; now clinging to the timbers at the 
side; (to prevent the lubricity of our foot- 
ing from taking advantage of the back part 
of our head, and making us to '^aee stan 
in a dark passage,'' from the tripjmig up 
of our heels) now winding among props, 
and over cast-iron pump tubes; now 
making our way from one side of the in- 
clined shaft to the other, to enable us to 
travel as- easy as possible. On, on; down, 
down we go, until we hear the sound of 
muffled voices issuing ttom somewhere 
deep down amid the . darkness, and utter- 
ing something very indistinct and hard to 
be understood ; when we again cross over 
to, and enter a side drift ; where, in the 
distance, we see lights glimmering, in 
shadow and smoke, and hear the voices be- 
come more and more distinct, until my 
guide asks the question, ^ How does she 
look now, boys ?" << All right— better, sir." 

^'Ahl that's right — there goes the sup- 
per bell, boys." Now tools are dropped 
and a general move was on foot for work- 
ing in the bread and meat mine, as hard 
and as earnestly as they had worked in the 
quartz mine. 

" Have we reached the bottom nowf 
we inquired. *' Ah! no, we are only aboot 
one hundred and sixty feet below the sur- 
face, yet, we shall soon reach the green- 

Presently we reach the top of the green- 
stone ; but, down, farther and deeper, we 
pass on, as before, until we reach a long 
tunnel, into which we enter and can stand 

'* Is ihi8 the bottom V we inquired. 

^* Well, nearly,'' was the answer ; " we 
are now one hundred and thirty feet down 
in the greenstone, and three hundred feet 
from the out-crop of the quartz vein." 

<< WqU, sir," we interrogated, <<does the 
quartz rock pay you thus fiur down in the 
greenstone T* 


•* Ym," WM Um rapir, " it U arm bettor 
flwttitvuttbon. ^nndeepw we g«t, the 
richor the qnsrtB becomee. We Me verj 
veO Mrtiified vith tbe pronpect." 

" Do joa think tlikt it will prove so, geu- 

" I do^" wma tbe firm And emphatie an- 

TUe, tberefiire, become* an important 
bet ; inaamncb aa afaonld the pajing qoarti 
tmi aftnr tlia bottom of the decomposed 
rack ia reached the permanency of qoartz 
epeiatioaa wonld be at beat bntyerj donbtfal . 

Now, ie«der, let ui reat for a moment, 
■ad look aroand ni a little — aa we hope, 
()■ iaMfination at least,) joa have thna 
br •Mompanied oa. Except &om the 
Bghta ia ovr banda all it dark, and aa atill 
■Inoat aa &e tomb, with the exception of 
tim dHtaat deakiiig of a pnmp, and tbe 
itaadj dripping of aome water at oar 
dba». Bock here, there, and ereTTwhere. 
For i«*er»l yeara men have been pickjog 
e^ drilfiiig and blasting throngh aoUd 
nd ; bj daj and night ; in winter nod in 
mmBar; led fbrward by tbe taliamanic 
paw«r of geM— Of at least by the hope to 
ebtMS it. Haid rock, hard work, and 
cOan n>7 bard proapecti ; although oom- 
Uaad with difficnlqr and danger, have 

never for a moment danntad or dismayed 
them. Above gronnd or under j by daj>. 
light or candle light— «DWBrd — ever on- 
ward — has bees their nnswerving resolve— 
and the gniding star of hope has ever 
ihoDS with cheering light upon their la- 
bors. Hay the reward be near. 

" Ai it ia getting rather chilly, snppoae 
we ascend." 

" All right ; shall we ascend by the lad- 
der, or by the same way that we came ?" 
inqniied our excellent guide. 

" Ob, by the ladder, by all means," was 
the response. 

Lights were then hatened on onr hats ; 
as, " in ascending we shall have need of 
both hands perhaps 1" snggested onr guide. 

" What pleaaore there is in seeing day- 
light after one has been fw some time in 
darkness; and inhaling the cool fresh 
air above groond after some time spent 
ondemeath," we remarked, as we wiped 
tbe sweat &om our brow, when we had 
reached the top. 

Wlule we oool onrsalves, as we see the 
carta are busy in removing the gold-bear- 
ing qnartc which has been taken from be- 
low, let ns follow them to the mill and 
there see the modus openndi of croshiog 
the rook and extracting the gold. 



Alter the qnartc is emptied from the 
out into the jard, the W)^ pieces kre 
bKoken bj band to tibont the aize of* 
iiiu'aSitor«littl«am«Iler; tbejaretben 

■hoveled, with the dmt »i>d finer portiotii 
of rock, upon tn inclined table or " bop- 
per" Kt B, OB which a nn»U atrenn of 
water i« convejed (hrongh & pipe firma 

above, end b; which the qaartz is washed 
dowD ibe hopper to a solid cut-iron bed- 
plate at H, and beneath the stampers. 

The Btampen at A and I being elevated 
b; convex arms attached to a revolTioj; 
■baft at K, when at the required height, 
fall saddenl; down upon the quartc ; and 
being shod with lieavy caatirou, which, 
added to the stampers, make the whole 
weight of a single one from six bandred to 
a thoosand poands, crushes the rock to 
powder npoD which it falls. 

Id &ont of the stampen at D ia a verj 
fine seive or screen, against and Ibrongh 
which the water, gold ai^d pnlverised qnarti 
are coDstantl; being splashed b; the falling 
of the stampers ; and should the rock not 
be pnlTerised sufficiently fine to pass 
throngh these discharge-screens it again 
foils back upon the bed-plate to receive 
another cmahing fron the stampen. If, 
however, it is reduced fine enough to pass 
tiuoDgh, it Uli npOD an -j^roa at £, or 

into an " amalgamating box " contuDtng 
qnicksilveT, and into which a dash-board 
is inserted that all the water, gold, and 
tailings ma; pass through the qnicksilver 
contained in the amalgamating box, to an 
inclined plane or blanket-table below. 
Across and above the apron, or amalga- 
mating box, a small trough is fixed at 0, 
with holes in the bottom, for the purpose 
of distributing clean water eqnallj on the 
apron, or into the anulgamating box, and 
b; which the pulverised rock, and gold not 
saved above, is washed down to the blan- 
ket-tables at F. 

These tables simplj consist of a flat 
sinice, generall; about two feet in width 
by six inches in depth, and upon which a 
coarse Manket is spread fbr the purpose, 
principally, of saving the' auriferous snl- 
phnrets, and which will opt amalgamate 
with the quicksilver: Some compa- 
nies, however, depend chiefly opon the 
aptouatid blankets for laTing the idiols 

QCABTZ HnnNa m CALmsHu. 

of thaff gold, KDd <lo not hm 
fueknlrar above Ifco bluket- 


Tba blwikeli ua mDinred to r»- 
■•in npon the tftblM from ten to 
Ikbtf tninntw, MOOiding to tbe 
qoklitf of tbe rock beiog cnuhed ; 
tbkt wliich u rich r«qDiring the 
Avtgn mbmt ereiy too or fiiUea 
ninBtM. and that which u poor 
tftaj twen^ or thirtjr mimitea. 
Wbea a change ia derirabla the 
blankata are canfalljroBed np and 
placed ia a backet, or iniall tab, 
•od oairied to the "vat" — not, 
bowerer, before another ii spread 
BpoD the table — where thej are 
eairfiDf waahed. In order to taat the 
qoaBtf at tha roak baing enuhed, the 
eoataata of the blanket are freqaentlj 
■aAcd into a baUa, or broad Hezican 
bowl, and proapected. 

The maleriala contained in the blanket 
nta an aaved in a box made for that pnr- 
poaa, <m thrown into a heap, or taken at 
once to aoma hind of amalgamating mtf- 
dmm — and there ia aoarcelj a conple 

of mine in the Stata where the game pro- 
cess exact!; is used ; as each inperiDteo- 
dent of a miU toppos«« that he haa made 
soma improvements in hu mill entirely no- 
known or nnpracticed b; others; at all 
events ho flatters himself that he aaves 
more gold than his neighbor. 

The processes moat commonlj in use ai« 
the BaOra and Chili mill. These weaba 
describe, lesarving Cat some other nnmbeia 


VfftaanK» OAUTO&HtA lAGAZms. 

die wioua plana or improrementa for 
nving the gold, b/ different pertons, at 
diSbrent milU; inMinnch u the uvin); of 
gold is of too mdcb importance to be light* 
)j p*SMd orer. 

One of tliB fint naed, u well u one of 
the most useful and most imporUnt, ia the 
Hexiwn Butn. Though rude in its con- 
Btraction Bud nmple in its workiDg, it is 
one of the most effectual methods of Mving 
the gold which has jet been discorered. 
The Hesican method of constrnofing theae 
ii to lay * oiroalar tnok of atone ttdeiably 

level with a low wall arovBd the ootaida of 
the track; aD<l ia the centra a post nude 
of a tree cnt off at the required height, and 
generallj just abore a crotch or arm ; 
another email tree is Uien ent in the abaps 
required, fbr making a horriiontal shaft; 
to this is attached one or more large stonea ; 
and these being drawn around bj dookeT' 
or mnle power, grind the qnarts fa) powder. 
Of coarse, as gold is die heaviest it nata- 
r^j seeks the lowest places, and ad qoick- 
silver is alwars put in with the quartz the 
gold becomes amalgamated with it. 

>HB iMPioTVD tanatx bistu; 

The Mexican rastra has been improved 
some tittle in iu coostmction and adapta- 
tion to our wants; and in maoj cases 
mole-power has been aaperaeded bj steam j 
but the principle remains about the same. 

When the rastra is property prepared, a 
" tutcb" of abont Bre hnndred pounds is 
geueiallj emptied into one about ten feet id 
diameter ; but the quantity is always regu- 
lated by the sixe of the machine. It is 
then gnntnd very fine by means of the 
drag-stones attached to arms fixed in the 
perpendicnlar shaft, and which km gene- 

rally giren abont eight rerolntions per min- 
ale. At this rate it will require from three 
to four honra to grind a batch soffidently ; 
but this is somewhat regnlated by the 
grit and weight of the drag-stones. About 
three quartets of an hour befoie the whole 
is thoroughly ground, a sufficient qnftntity 
of quicksilver is added ; but the amoont is 
regulated by the richness of the qnaits in 
process of grinding. If, for instance, the 
five hundred pounds of tailinge placed in 
the araatca is supposed to contain about 
Ihne qaarten of an ounce <tf gold, ftbont 

QUABTZ inNn» m caldobmu. 


■M OBBM of qmlokiiher U gtatnUj oaed 
— cr abovt twao^^n per Mnt more of 
tk* hUei thu th« (brmer. Some Jodg- 
BMt ia i«quind in this — too mnch quick- 
tih« bung > diaadTutege, inaamnch as 
^ KMalgav ilumld be kept hard to make 
jtelbetaal in aanngllM gold. Qoickiil- 
TV aboaM alao be kept totj frM {ran 
|iaaii. aa it cannot be too dean; and 
ihoold iBTariably be well ntonad ereiy 

About ten nunntet befbra the grinding 
ii finiabed, abont nsteen bnckeU of water 
ne pMicd iato the raatoa, to tbe qtisntitT 
iiiairil. uid tbe aame motion Kwtinned, 
the whole appearing Hke muddy water. 
TUa ia tfcen baled ovt, or mn off quickly. 
Fbe bnadnd ponnda moie of the qnarti 
are tben added, and the proeeaa repeated, 
■dding the aa»e portion of qoiokailTer to 

lUa ia kept on ftr one, two, tbree, or 
etc four weeki, according to the ri oh neai 
of the qnaita, or tb* taote and waota of tbe 
inraer. The lHK"r the amoant of amal- 
na eontdiied in the iMtra, Ae more gold 
k there Mnd, in proportion, to the ton. 

The amf't*" ^ (^^ taken ont of the 

the bottom of the mtn, and 
carefnUj panned oat, and M earefttlly ro- 
torted. After tbia, moat boaineaa men 
melt the gold into ban or injrota, before 
■ending it to tbe mint to be coined. 

Before oommenoing to grind ^ain, the 
crericea between the stones covering the 
floor of the raatra, abont one and a half 
iacbes wide, are tightlj packed and filled 
with cla;, lerel with the stone. 

In Bl Dontdo Coonlj, rastraa sixteen 
feet in diameter are need to great adran- 
tage, aa more 'than donble the amount of 
qoarti is gnnmd bj them than bj the 
smaller ones ; but of course thej require 
a proportionate increase in power to work 

It ahonld alao be remembered that not 
lea* than two Sfths more qnartz ia gmnnd 
in the sftme raatrft when wtwked bj ateam 
•r water-power than when worked bj ani- 
mals, inMmnoh as the ^eed and regnlari- 
tj is increased. 

It ahonld alao be well remembered hf 
enrj operator in qnarli, that warm water 
is of great assiatance in ererj thing con- 
nected with amalgam, as it will he the 
menu of sftriag from tea to fifteen per 


MDt. mott goM Uutn wben it U worked 
villi cold mt«r — a 'nrj important kiad 

This mill, u lued in Chili, utd from 
irlienoe ita origin wid naioe ue derived, is 
nearlj ni aimpte in ita cODilrncfion h the 
rutrft. It coniiatB of a eircalar indoanre 
■omewtut reMmbling tho nsti*, with the 
w»lla K little higher, uid more regaW; 
and, ioatead of the '' dmg-stonea," a luge 
■tone wheel, attached to the horizontal 
Bhaft, i> noed for grinding the rock. Into 
this mill ■ small atteam of water is con- 
itantl; moQing, a portion of which is 
fbrced ont at each rerolution of the wheel. 
The gold is saved bj moans of quicksilTer 
on the bottom of the mill, in the same 
manner as in Ihe raatra. 

To make this principle more anbierri- 
ent to the pnTpoaes of qnartz mining, and 
better adapted to the requirements of a 
bsler age and people, the " improved Chili 


Hill" was invented. This consists of two 
h«a*j caat-iron wheels, from three to five 
feet in diameter, and from ten to fifteen 
' inches in thickness : these, revolve on 
an azla, moving steadilj rotutd in a dr- 

onlar iron basin about a foot in dapth, 
into which the tailings from the blanket 
tables are coaveyed, and groand lo pov- 

As theae improved mills are genatallj 
worked by steam, the speed attained, and 
the work accomplished, of oonrse very tut 
exceeds the old process. 

On the first page of the present nnmbet 
of the Hagasine, in the foreground of the 
factDre, will be fonnd several small amal- 
gamators in use at Hr. Chsvanne's mill. 

The methods of saving the gold whid 
passes over the blankets in the tailings^ 
are almost as unmerons as are tiie niUi 
where the quartz is crashed. The princi- 
ple, however, is to allow the tailings to ran 
down a series of inclined tables, or sloices, 
at the end of each of which is often placed 
a wood trough, or iron pan, containing 
quicksilver, into which they flow, when the 
gold falls into the qnicksilver on the hot- 
tom,and is there retained; while the lighter 
material floats over the edge of the tronj^ 
or pan into another sloice, at the end at 
which is another pan, where the same pro- 
cess is repeated. The slaiees, or indioed 
tables, are generally fitted up with " pa- 
tent riCBes" across the bottom, filled with 
qnicksilver. After the tailings have passed 
through the whole series of sluices thej 
are someUmes worked tbrongh the im- 
proved Chili Mill, or other machine ; bnt 
are oftener allowed to ran into a large vat, 
from which the water flows off while the 
tailings settle at the bottom. These are 
then thrown into a heap and allowed to 
" rost," preparatory to other processes at 
some future time. 

As Cslifomia is one vast net-work of 
quartz leads, a thousandth part of whidi 
have never even been prospected ; and as 
the bottom of a single lead has not yet 
been fonnd, it is not an uncertain venture 
to say that this department alone is C^*- 
ble of giving employmeot to several mill- 
ions of people : and, when people hasard 
the opinion that mining in this Stata is bnt 
Id its intancy, we hope (with their consent) 


that Ibejr mj Ure fi% or m hundred 
jwHi (I) u we ue utnrad tlwt at the ez- 
pntion (tf that tinw the; will, with gnat' 
ff Mrt»imtf than now, b« willing to make 
tha mma coofeuion. 


Tftaitj of TKoitJes, 

Climsx of veutioa, 
Vaiting for the can 

At a milroad station, 
little Yankee clock, 

Waf^ng Teijslow, 
Worriea off an hour 

In a small depotl 

Snltiy mmmer day. 
Hot Sahara weather, 

Crowda of nieltinf; peoi^e 
Huddled up blather j 

I«diea flutter hsa, 

Hen all take to smoking, 

Cool as salamandera, 
Reallj, 'tiB provoking ! 

TaD, uneasy Yankee 

Bobbing up his head, 
Wonden if the can 

" Couldn't go ahead." 
G«od old mai&n ladj 

Sajs the train is lat«, 
Bnt we all must learn 

Patiently to wait. 

Corpulent old fellow, 

Looking very wise, 
With a yawn quite laiy, 

Cloaea np his eyea. 
Waitiug fi>r the can, 

It is no wise odd. 
That he took a train 

To the land of iVod; 

Erery one impatient, 

Erery body grumbling; 
Can at lengUi oome in 

With tremendous rumbling. 
Qeneral stampede 

Made for eyery door, 
Half a docen children 

Spnwlii^ oa the floor. 

Worst of Uttle n 

Which in life beset ns, 
Worst of traveling tronbles 

That forever fret na, 
Worrying out the hours — 

Houis of idle woe — 
Dns^, oroBB, and omsty, 

In a hot depot 8**« 
ka" Wttg Sutiom." 


A yonnjK wren lay cozily in its soft nut, 
almost hidden in llie nioas of the cottage- 
roof where ber parents had made a resting- 
pUce long before little Jenny was bom. 

She was the yonngest of the third and last 
brood of the season — a dark«yed elf with 
shining plamage and slender figure, and 
now as she lay so snag); in that wee-bit 
cradle, her stnrdier sislers and brolhei* 
were down b; the spring, plsjing hide-and- 
seek with the locQSts. Now and then, as 
a shrill, screaming rattle, rattle, arose from 
one or the other of them, Jenny would 
raise herself on tiptoe to see what the mat- 
ter could be 1 and she more than once 
joined her sweet Toice to their tnmnlt when 
she discovered the cause of the ezi'itement : 
— a white-winged locust, just emerged 
from its hard shell, still dinging with emp- 
tT claws to the rough bark of a tre& while 
tne ghostly pre-occnpant slowly climbed 
onward and upward to the strengthening 


Bat Jennj liad other thoughts than of 
hreakbita of young bngs, and gamea at 
the ^rinf^. Before her roae a pnrad hill, 
whose brow was bathed la mistv shadow*, 
whoee feet the tall treea careisea with tiieir 
wildest embraces; and the Sowers that 
robed its aide, clostered like lakes of goM, 
4nd Studded its tresses of matted Tines, 
with here and there whil«, stany diademB, 
VDtil to Jennj's &ncT, the hlU became a 
Princess, and above her, in the form of a 
■lem Craig, on which was set for a crown 
an eagle's nest, towered a King, the fruwn- 
iog bther of the Princess I And the little 
wren, Jobd;, witii ejes oft glancing up 
ward, marveled if an aogel g;aarded that 
crown, that showed so seldom and so weird- 
Ij amidst the mists that seemed to her like 
wings, now lifUng a little, now falling, 
then swerving and swaying back and forth, 
arennd and lar below, but never sweeping 
tiieroselves away from between the soft, 
AaA, wondering eyea of Jenny and the 
Bystery above. 

Jenny began to mope, when day after 
day the same tantaUzing mist-wreaths tor- 
tured her expectant vidcnt: and dim- 
formed yearnings to shape themselves in 
her heart, to penetrate the wonder, and 
know if indeed she had seen the wings of 
a gnardian angel, and if the intense 
shimmer which sometimes made her hide 
her head beneath her wing, was the Aia- 
ing of the crown jewels, or the datxltng 
•yei of the AngeL 

Jenny was » w—k littk wren ; not hall 
■0 flmag at her sisters were. They woald 
have mule tittle of a flight such as aha 
began to contemplate, but, for her, it was 

a loDg jonmer, and qaestionable if bIm 
conld ever endure all the hardshipa of iL 

But her sool was growing, as yon could 
have seen by looking at the wide eyes of 
the little wren, ana she was soon r«ady 

dare the dangers, and one momine she 

oee &om her soft neat, and spread her 
tiny brown win^ for Sight from it. One 
glance at the smiling Princess, and upward 
rose towards the oatelretched arms of 
nearest tree at the foot of the hill, 
where she reposed ber panting form. Af- 
ter she had taken breath, she looked up. 
How her heart sankl It grew cold and 
heavy in her breast. Above her she taw 
no longer the mist-draped hilt-lope, bnt 
only a wilderness of green foliage. Could 
she ever find her way throagh it f Her 
hopes gave no res^nse. An earthy Burit 
had canght ber in its embrace. Her oear 
Princess, the King, the Angel, were abut 
out fiireverl Shmild she return to the 
nest 7 She could at least view them from 
afar 1 She looked down, around — all, all 
was one unbroken, vast wilderness of 
leaves. Her head sank upon her shoulder. 
She felt only the deepest oespair. 

Suddenly her eyes brighten 1 She hears 
a strange, grand Bwoop of wings I Her lit- 
tle form shrank and shivered with wonder 
and terror and worship I Surely this was 
Hit coming Angel of the crown I That 
majesty of flif^ht could only be hia. ThoM 
migbtr wings wero only made to np- 
beu' the Qnardian of the Mysterious. And 
the sunlight be bore with him into lh» 
shadowed wildemeaa, did it &11 &om his 
wio^, or did he bear two diamonds to il- 
lumiae the daricness of the gloom 1 



Poor JeoBT shot her ejea in Tenr bewiU 
derment. When lot the Angel-Wonder 
nid gently v ^ Whither, little Jennj, do 
Toar aspiring winglets tend ?" She raised 
her timid head, and^ her eyes met a blaze 
of fight that ponred in flooos from the brow 
of i£e Angel- Wonder. Bhe knew not what 
ihe didy but with an impulse like that 
wlddb fl&akes th^ moth seek ike doTonring 
fire-Uffhtt she darted forward. An out- 
stretched wingreceiyedher trembling form, 
and shielded from the blasoi she nestled 
doae and doeer, while the warmth pene- 
trated her chillj frame, from the great 
heart agminst which she leaned. Soon she 
ceaeed to tremble, jet faster dang and clo- 
ser nestled, and now she lay securely en- 
veloped in the strong, soft folds of the 
Wonder's embrace. 

Ah, little Jennr had indeed found a par- 
adise. She no longer doubted that she 
should erer reach those proud mysteries ; 
and ah, happy little one it she ooufd iJways 
rest so dieitered from the oold glooms of 
the dreary earth. 

The broad wings slowly expand; the 
rastle widens into a sound bke storm-winds 
seeking calm in the bosom of sea-waves — 
and now they roar like the rery Demon of 
Tempests, and rise and foil in gigantic 
swoops, now sinking deep into the snadowy 
▼alieTB, now rising majesticalljr above the 
ckmos, ever moving with a mighty pride, 
as if the elements were its minions. Ana 
BOW op 1 up I up I with slow, grand ascent, 
the Wonder b^rs its tiny burthen. The 
wren gases out from its protection, and lo I 
the Princess I Once more she gladdens 
Jenny's heart till it flutters at her fair 

And, ah I fp^od sight I The stem Craig- 
King lifts his mighty crowned head, and 
Jenny almost dies wiUi joy as the Wonder 
swoops among the embosoming mist- 
wreaths, and the, the little wren, mscovers 
the mystery. 

Her Angel has borne her upward to the 
tfarooe. The crown is her resting-place be- 
side his heart ; and the jewels he bears al- 
ways with him, to illumine all earth's shad- 
owB. His eagle-eyes shaU henceforth dis- 
pel the glooms of wildernesses ; the mists of 
mcrantain-tops will melt before the gleam, 
and the earth will bear beauties an hun- 
dred-fold to her, upspringing from the 
wasmth of his glances. 

Happy Jenny wren 1 And did the Ea- 
g^Anj^l live for her 7 Ask the stars that 
Bbiiie, if they live for the rivulet in yonder 
glen T Ask the northern blast if its icy 
spears are sped for the wind-flower on the 

plains ? Tet he, the Wonder, mw gentler, 
aye, far less stem, when he felt the tender 
pressing of the little wren's heart against 
nis grand breast 

Mst, then, Jenny I No more outward 
glances I Thy path to God and Love are 
one! What I art ambitious? Not yet at 
peace ? Would'st win the throne ? Pre- 
Bumptuos one I See the mild glances of 
those orb-jeweled, marvellous eyes «, feel 
thou the strong beat of that mighty heart ; 
listen to the subdued anthem that voice 
chants for thee, and turn thy rebeliiona 
restlessness to quiet and joy again. 

Ah 1 that I should have it to relate 1 
That wren so loved, so honored, the com- 
panion in many grand flights, the only love 
of that magnificent Eaffle-Sonl, madly 
thrast keen, needle* pointed daggers at his 
heart, till one gloomy day, when the earth 
was shut in by rain-clouds, the Angel- Won- 
der gently severed the unworthy wren from 
his side, gased lovingly and pityinffly at 
her, then shook his noble plumes, and van- 
ished ^'in lofty cloud," leaving her upon his 
couch of state— the aiiy crown of King 

And there the stunned birdling saty 
stunned with grief at her own wickedness. 
Will the Angel ever come again ? asks her 
agonized heart. Or, — and she gazed 
down the steeps up which he bore her — 
shall she descend to the obscure nest from 
which she took her first, short, faltering 

Useless the sobbing sighs — worse than 
useless all thy struggles — only his invisi- 
ble presence may help thee ; but thy soul 
is weak, thy strength but tiny. He pities 
thee, poor wren — the magnanimous One— 
whom thy presumptnona petulence has driv- 
en from thee I He still sends down to thee, 
from the clouds, rajs frt>m his eyes to light- 
en the gloom of storms that cling rudely 
about thy little form. Even yet thy earnest 
struggles may upbear thee, and ye may in 
the l&ming Time rest again, in penitent, 
humbled * loving, upon his breast ! Keep, 
then, thine eyes uplifted I Watch and work 
foithfull J for this reward I 

Poor Jenny ! her bowed head yery slowly 
lifts itself aboye the shadows her own heart 
has nurtured, but as her languid eyes open 
in shrinking, they suddenly flare joyously, 
wide and bright I She springs to the edge 
of the crown-nest, and her voice rings in 
mellow, heart-fltirring song. Her slender, 
fairy figure vibrates to the melody her soul 
outpours ; and the black, threatening storm- 
clouds sway, and sink, sink, as the hvmn 
fills the atmosphere, until a silvery naze 



Teils otiig, and hill, uid 
flowen &nd tnea ; And 
the Budden duh of 
*ew&leU ia Uie vsllej- 
sprin^, startles the fam- 
ily oiwreas, who set np 
With oppoeinft voices, 
shrill, rattling Deadlong 
pijungs, that made the 
▼ei7 wild-flowera tou 
their duDtj heads in 
dancing measure to the 

And Jeoaj — what 
had roused the despair- 
ing onef Abore her, 
in the dear apace be- 
yond the cloada, a dU- 
taut sonnd of sweepiDg 
wings, and a woadroua Voice chanting 
prophecies, and a broad path of li *' 
as rrom HeaTen, that penetrated the 
lowful gtoom I and she knew, theni that 
her Wonder-iover, with watchfiil, nBTor- 
. dimming, eagle-eyes, f^aided sUII his 
CTown-nest, and the New Qem which 
shonld henceforth beam mildlj in its bor- 

This is the true story of Happy Jenny 
Wren ; and now that the Angel nas forgiv- 
en her, we may an; day hear her singins 
in wild, melodious strains ; her little head 
uplifted, her bright eyes steadily gazing to- 
waid the sky — and thoagh we cannot dis- 
cern the Mystery she views so jovoualy, no 
matter how much we try, yet asl the chil- 
dren of Germany, and tjiey will teU yon 
that this is a true legend, and that the 
wren is the betrothed of the eagle ; and 
I dare say they conld, almost any of 
them, point ont to yon the very monn- 
tain whereon all these strange things hap- 
pened I 

_ At all event* I believe it to be true, and 
unce Jenny Wren has grbwn stronger aiid 
mser from her sad experiences, she has 
taken a long flight from the valley of her 
birth, and may now be seen, even at this 
moment, sitting in onr garden, and despite 
what a correspondent of the Cali/ortiia 
MagatiTU savs, she sin^ better, to my 
ears, than all the cansnes in the world I 
She is not alone in this great coantcv- Be- 
sides bringing in her train all her family, 
she has been followed by many a song-bird 
beside — all of whom have stranie histo- 
ries, if one conld only Duderstand their lan- 
^nagej and wonld listen at sunrise, when 
Bt to gossip of old 

gnage, ac 

fora the yawning Bowerbads have wasted 
their sweet breaUi in kisaei to the w ' 


In 1742, James Watt, a poor boy, in 
whose creative mind had just dawned a 
brilliant idea, the application of which was 
to e^ect a peaceful revolution, which 
shonld extend over the whole civilized 
world, and penetrate and finally destfoy 
the barbarism of ages, when, engaged in 
his dreamy way in ezperimeuting on the 
condensation of steam by holding a apoon 
or cup over the spent of a tea-kettle, wH 
sharply rebuked by his matter-of-fact aunt 
for what she termed his " idleness." ''Take 
a book," Bud she, "or do something nse- 
fhl. Yon have done nothing ftir the last 
boor but take off the lid of that kettle and 
put it on again ; are yon not ashamed of 
spending yonr time in this wayT" A 
centnry later the glorioos idea of that 
qniel, thonghtfnl boy had been fructified, 
and man, from his cradle to his grave, 
alike for his swaddling-clothes and his 
ihrond, was indebted to the power of 
steam. Abonl this time, the wcrld of 
thought realized the fact that the exercise 
of bone and sinew is not incompatible 
irith the pouemon of mind j and that the 



of labor had been too loDg oyer* 
looked. It was conceded that the daily 
voricer in any department of mechanism 
or arty might be possessed of intelligence ; 
that ha might qnicken that intelligence 
aad deriTe information by stndy and ob- 
servmtiOD, and that the exercise of his nat- 
oral ability and acqnired knowledge under 
the control of practical experience, might 
erentnate in applications of principles, in 
discoveries and inrentionsi of far greater 
benefit to civilization than could result 
firom the chaotic thoughts and confusing 
platitudes of those who are mere wander- 
ers in the theoretical intricacies of science, 
or from the glowing fancies of the enthu- 
siaats, who listlessly roam amidst the fira- 
grant and many-tinted flowers that deco- 
rate the fields which have been ploughed, 
harrowed and sown by men of sterner 
mind and less classic mould. In 1857| 
tihe results of this important discovery are 
qwead out before us from the equator to 
the poles; the effect upon art, science, 
phOoBOphy, education, politics, society and 
reKgioD, when calmly and deliberately re- 
viewed and even partially appreciated, 
taxes the full powers of the human under- 
staading ; it seems as though the world has 
been suddenly awakened from a deep and 
dreamless sleep, during which it had been 
prepared fot a complete metamcMrphosis. 

But vast though the subject is, our space 
is fimited, and we mnst hasten to conclude 
oar reflections. It is for us of California 
— at this critical period of our existence 
as aa organized community, when the ex- 
eiKement immediately attending the dis- 
eoveiy of mineral wealth has been subdued 
by Anglo-Saxon reason ; when agriculture, 
mano&ctores, and the many and various 
btanclies of mechanical industry, though 
yet in embryo, are gradually becoming, in 
eonnection with the mines, the substantial 
Interests of the country ; when home pro- 
daeeia are beginning to drive foreign im- 
potters from the market, and the well-set- 
tled laws of supply and demand are under- 
slood and applied ; when society is assum- 

ing a permanent organization pt is for us 
now, above all other periods, to acquire, 
as near as may be, a perfect conception of 
the progress o£ past events, with their train 
of important results, and by the aid of 
these direct the present with a view to the 
most perfect development in the future. 
The utility of the late Mechanics* Fair in 
San Francisco will consist in its effect. 
Mere admiration of the articles exhibited, 
of the mechanical genius or scientific abil- 
ity of the contributors, will amount to noth- 
ing unless coupled with the determinatioui 
by material assistance and individual ex- 
ertion, to aid in the proper and successful 
application of the talent and ingenuity 
which the exhibition proved to be so plen- 
tiful in the State. Those beautiful and 
improved models of steam engines — so ex- 
quisite in their proportions, so perfect in 
constructipn — must create patronage, not 
alone directly, but through the medium of 
intelligent conversation and writing, for 
their designers and constructors, and so on 
through the entire catalogue of contribu- 
tions. The philosophy of these displays is 
not in the momentary feeling of gratified 
vanity excited by them, but in the practi- 
cal lesson taught, and onward impetus 
given to each person who witnesses or reads 
of them, and to the community in the ag- 
gregate. We look to grand results in the 
Future, growing out of the results of the 
Past, and justified by the prospects of the 


The people of California are accustomed 
to send litUe mementoes to their friends in 
the StcUea, which indicate the attachment 
that neither time nor distance are able to 
sever. These tokens are of every con- 
ceivable variety ; and often, as in the case 
I am about to relate, they represent one's 
home or place of labor in the mines. 

One day as I was sitting by my easel 
with brushes in hand, and a pallet on which 



wege •rmnged iiiDdry bits of paint, my 
irieDd John Smith came in. He admired 
the colcMrs as he saw them distriboted over 
the canvass, and declared I must paint a 
pictore for liim. 
'<What8haUitbe?" saidL 
" My house. I want my house painted." 

Poor fellow I he did not mean to make me 
a house painter in the common acceptation 
of the term ; he meant that he wanted a 
picture of his house. Now John had a 
dwelling-house which he rented ; and, as it 
was all the real estate he had, he esteemed 
it highly. The house was small, one story, 
with the side to the street, and a small ad- 
dition on the end. The side and one end 
were painted white. The windows were 
small, even, for so small a house. There 
was a capacious yard in front indosed by a 
fence in jin extreme state of dilapidation. 
These were the premises I was desired to 
portray, and it will appear how near I came 
to it. 

*' Well " said I, « I will make a picture of 
your house ; but you need a new fence." 

'' Oh ! I am going to have a good one. 
Make one in the picture ; and I want you 
to make a porch along the front side of 
the house, for lam going to have one 

*' Very well ; but in that case, you ought 
to have larger windows. " 

** Oh ! yes, I am going to have French 
windows, put in French windows.— And 
I am going to paint it again. " 

" Then John, since you are going to 
have a nice place, I 'would paint it some 
color rather than white. " 

" All right ; I tell you I am going to 
make a fine house of it. I want you to fix 
it up right. " 

" In such a capacious yard you should 
have shade and ornamental trees, and some 
shrubbery, and a fountain. " 

To this he assented, and I went to work 
and completed a painting representing a 
colored house with porch, French windows, 
a yard fuU of floorishing treeS| and shrab- 

bery, and besidesi^ a tempestaons little 
fbuntain — not resembling his plaoe in % 
single particular save in the relative aiae 
of house and lot I showed it to him and 
he exdaimedt — 

<*0h! that is first rate 1 I will send k 
home by the next steamer.'' 

This was a denouement. I had supposed 
that it was to hang in his house, and that, 
since it was not like his place, ^he would 
make his place like it ; but away to the 
States went the picture, and the place re- 
mains as it was to this day, exceptin^^ 
some improvement in the fencing. Words 
may tell stories, appearances deceive, type 
tell lies, and little pictures fib, grossly fib- 
grossly, because they have the endorsement 
of a seemingly disinterested hand. 

N. K. 

Lbcturi upon ** MnrNiE "-baloot — Bp 
JSagle Wing. Mineralogy is generally 
supposed to be the science of stones, rocks, 
ledges, pebbles, etc., etc., but strictly de- 
fined, it embraces every object in the visi- 
ble world excepting vegetables and animal 
matter ; hence the air we breathe is a min- 
eral, and we ourselves are mostly made up 
of rocks and minerals, because the same 
chemical substances that go to make up 
minerals constitute the larger portion of 
our bodies. I do not know that I am sci- 
entifically correct, but of late it seems to 
me that every thing is ** Minnie '*-ral ! and 
O, how I do love to study and gase upon 
the subject 1 I have determined to give a 
lifetime of devotion to it. A *' Minnie "-rai 
has become my hobby; the " cabin "-et 
where it is found is a sacred spot to me. ,1 
study and gaze upon the features it pre- 
sents. Other mmeralogists have found 
and described ^ faults " among the rocks 
and minerals, but after the severest scru- 
tiny I am unable to find any fault whatever 
in mine ; and when I touch my lips to it, 
to determine by the taste the class to whi<£ 
it belongs, it adheres to them with a tena- 
city altogether unexplainable, while it 
acts as a magnet of such power, that no 
sooner are they separated than they as 
naturally seek to renew the touch and 
taste. How singular I Who, then, would 
not like the delightful study of '< Monnie "- 




Msnifold are the pictares of beaofy, 
Sky, monataia and water and wood ; 

He ie be«t. who best sees it his datj 
To lore all, as ** all very good." 

Who flcometh this kindliest duty 
Knows nothing of love as one should. 

Tiy nothing on earth I hare hated, 
Bat on the bright nni^erse smiledi 

1 know 1 love nothing created ' 
is# well, as %pun little child. 

Til a joy that has never abated, 
Which in my young bosom burst wild. 

• • • * • 

I oDce had a ftieod — little Moses — 
Foot sammers had shone on his head ; 

His cheeks, like the orient roses 
That bloom by the HiddakeVs bed, 

(Alas! in what silence reposes 
The boy in the realm of the dead.) 

It was in the hilarious season 
Of mowwreaths and boreal air, 

That we met — and for many a reason 
Than that he was wondrously fair, 

I loTcd him : he's ready for treason 
Who in a child's love cannot share. 

5o presently we were united 
In friendship the purest on earth ; 

Him oft has my spirit been lighted 
By TisioBs transcendent whose birth 

I've traced to suoh love ;— This was blighted 
Too early for one of such worth. 

Svery nom he would come to my study, 
Soae mystical dream to relate ; 

Hii coantenanoe growing more ruddy, 
The wilder the things he would state. 

Holding Qp — his face beaming and ruddy-^ 
An angel, portrayed on his slate. 

Aad when too, the winter days ended. 
And twilight grew deep on the plain, 

When the evening dampness descended 
i'ihe silent invtsible rain : 

And curioQs devices were blended 
in frost-work on every pane, 

He vonld stand at the window commanding 

A view of the desolate street, 
And little brown school house outstandiug 

Alone to the winds and the sleet ; 
^ hcaatiful blue eyes expanding 

V; long-waited presenoe to gr^ 

^w npon his flresh lips hangs a story — 

A story indeed he mutt tell ; 
AM hit eye khidks up with glorr 

Of marvelous visions that dwell 
IahiRiioal-.OhI this cherubim glory 

Alone on a child broodeth well. 

"f^ii beside me his fancy commences 
A " thousand and one^' little flights 
I^to dream-land, un^ tlie tired senses 


Decline with the flickering light 
On the hearth. In my breast joy condenses 
In such sweet " Arabian Nights." 

But there came to this home of aflfeotioii, 
One mom at the breaking of day, 

The angel who maketh selection 
Of flowers, too pellucent to sway 

In life's tempests ; and, sad recollection t — 
My cherub was taken away. 

Never more in its crystaline beauty, 
Will melody flow m>m that tongue ; 

Never more will I go to my duty 
Delighted with harmonies flung 

From tnose lips ; for their roseate beauty 
Is blanched, and the lute is unstrung. 

And now I can only remember. 
The vision that passed like a breath 

In that season, that blessed Decen^er I 
For a voice, breathing plaintively, saith : 

He sleeps in tiie quietest chamber — 
The uttermost darkness of death. 

But only the dwtf that was mortal. 
Reclines in that dreamless repose ; 

Its beautiful angel immortal. 
From out its cold prison uprose. 

And has passed through the sanctified portal 
That borders this valley of woes. 




Well, afl I said; we started, and in 
company with a wagon loaded with pro- 
visions, drawn by three yoke of oxen. 
Besides oarselves and the driver, was 
the driver's son, a hopeful youth of 
some sixteen, who, with his ready wit 
and pleasant laugh beguiled the weary 
hours of travel, and made onr 'voyage' 
almost a pleasure trip. I, being some- 
what of an invalid, was allowed to ride, 
which I found very pleasant until the 
dust commenced to arise in clouds so 
dense, that I was unable to say whether 
I was upon a loaded wagon, or beneath 
a very large sized pepper-box. Then 
I preferred to walk, which I did for the 
balance of the trip. 

The old woman had told the Col. 
that the old man had told her, that 
Foster's Bar was upon the route, and 
that in case they left; that place before 
we reached it, she would leave suoh di- 
rections there as would enable us to 



follow without difficulty — and now we 
were en route for Foster's Bar. The 
summit of the hill .leading to the Bar 
was gained; — here the two lead yoke 
of oxen were unhitched^ a tree felled^ 
and tied to the tail end of the wagon ; 
and the pas^engert requested to ' trim 
ship/ by standing on the wheels in dan- 
gerous places 3 and we commenced the 
descent. By the aid of a great deal of 
" Whoarhawing, " " Gee-Buckings " 
and any given quantity of shouting and 
profanity on the part of the driver, we 
< weathered ' the hill^ and landed safely 
on the Bar. 

It being near night when we arrived, 
and feeling very tired, we determined 
to at once pitch our tent and turn in, 
which we did. Early the following 
morning we unloaded the wagon; and, 
bidding the driver and his boy '^ good 
bye, " commenced a fruitless search for 
old Gingerly, and which we persevered 
in for two days. There had been no 
team there, we were told, excepting 
those bringing freight, and which after 
unloading, returned to Marysville. Even 
the name of the illustrious Gingerly 
was unknown, and his fame had never 
reached that place. The fact of our 
having so lately seen a woman, and 
being then in search of one, rendered 
us very conspicuous personages — ^but 
'' Madam Eumor/' as she often does, 
mixed the story up until it was gener- 
ally understood that we had a woman 
with us, and our little tent the second 
day was surrounded with men and boys, 
who were clamorous for a peep at her. 
In vain were our attempts at explana- 
tion ; in vain did we deny the charge, 
and endeavor to refute the base insin- 
uation: ocular demonstration was de- 
manded, and we pulled down our tent 
and trampled over its fallen folds. 
The crowd began to disperse, satisfied, 
but disappointed, when one very tall 
and slender young man with a very 
pale face, long, light colored hair, and 
ditto colored eyes, approached, and 
taking me by the arm walked me a 
short distance from the scene of the 
late besiegement, and with a veiy weak 

voice commenced the following conver- 
sation : — "0, sir, the woman, how 
did she look ? " " Look I " said I, 
looking at him with strong doubts ia 
my mind as to his sanity, ''well enough — 
in excellent health 1 should judge/'. 
"No, I don't mean that — you don't 
understand me — what did she look 
like ? " " Look like — why a woman, 
to be sure — what did you suppose she'd 
look like ! " " Oh, I wish that I could 
see one — do you think she'll come this 
way? I have'nt seen one for eighteen 
months/' Here the young man fell 
into a series of hysterical sobs, and 
proceeded with spasmodic efforts to 
jerk out the following : — "Not since 
I left my mo — (sob) — ^mo--(sob) — 
mother — (sob) — Mary Ann (sob) Sum- 
mers (sob) promised to write (sob) but 
she (sob) ha-(8ob)-ha-(hystericaIly)— 
hasn't/' "Poor fellow," tho't I, as he 
with eyes dripping wet with tears, and 
bosom almost bursting, walked away 
and disappeared behind a pile of rocks. 
" When you are older, and have had 
experience, and become better acquaint- 
ed with the ways of the sex you now so 
much adore, you will look back to 
those eighteen months as the oasis of 
your life, and then will know what a 
simpleton and fool you are making of 
yourself now." 

The third day we voted ourselves 
ioldy concluding that the old man had 
"played it very low down," and that 
we miust commence to prospect for 
ourselves. In accordance with this 
view we took pick, pan and shovel, and 
strolled along down the bars of the 
Yuba, and had not gone far when we 
overtook a fine looking, hard-fisted mi- 
ner, and, after entering into conversa- 
tion with him, we walked along together, 
and soon sat down to rest. After a 
general conversation, our new acquain- 
tance asked us where we were going. 
To this we could give no definite reply, 
and merely answered by saving, " that 
we were looking around, in hopes of 
finding something." " Well," said he, 
" I like the appearance of you fellows, 
and I think I cau put you in the way 



of gelling a good claim. I have dig- 
gings some distance from bere^ and I 
think the^ are rich ; no one knows of 
them besides mj company, and one 
other man, who discovered them in 
company with us ; he is an old moun- 
taineer/' ''What ! old mountaineer, did 
you say — tall man — ^long hair — ^tushers 
— chews tobacco — Gingerly I b that 
his name 1" " That's the very man," 
rejoined the stranger. '^ Good gra- 
cious I is it possible 1 *' said we, and all 
made a grasp for his hand, '< 'tis the 
very man we are after." * * Three cheers 
for old Gingerly/' shouted the Col. 
''The old woman you mean," suggested 
our little Captain. The Col. blushed but 
did'nt cheer. Then we entered into 
explanations, and told our new friend — 
whose name, as he informed us, was 
Underwood — the whole story, and 
agreed to be ready to go with him that 
night — "to leave in the night," he 
said, " was necessary, to prevent being 
tracked." He also told us that had we 
kept along the ridge instead of coming 
down the hill, we would have overtaken 
old Gingeriy — "but never mind," said 
he, "you are only a day or two behind, 
and 'twill end just as well." 
^ Upon oar return to the Bar we were 
fortanate enough to find a pack-train, 
which had just come in from the 
** Forks," and which we at once en- 
gaged to transfer our " traps " to the 
place of onr destination, wherever that 
might be. Night had drawn down her 
thickest mantle, and the denizens of 
Foster's Bar were slumbering — dream- 
ing perhaps of golden nuggets and two 
ounce diggings— perchance of home— 
but little did they dream of an expedi- 
tion starting out for secret diggings 
while they slumbered. We made our 
exit from the Bar at a point nearly op- 
posite to that of our entree. There was 
no beaten path, not even a trail, to 
guide BS up the hill, but " Underwood " 
acted as pilot^ and, taking the bearings 
of two or three stars, he led off whUe 
we followed* 

It haa always been my impression 
that I tumbled up that mil, I know 

that I was stumbling most of the time, 
and once or twice came very near going 
back to the Bar, by an entirely new 
route — rapid but not safe. Having 
surmounted the hill we went on quite 
rapidly Hill near day, and then camped. 
About noon of the second day after 
leaving the Bar we struck snow, and 
soon found ourselves traveling over 
what appeared to be a vast prairie cov- 
ered with snow, and very hard travel- 
ing it was, as the snow was soft, and 
every step plunged us to the knee ; we 
became thirsty, and eating snow only 
increased our thirst — the perspiration 
rolled from us in big drops, and, as for 
myself, it seemed as if every step would 
be my last ; but night was coming on, 
and we were anxious to reach a growth 
of timber a few miles distant. 

A column of smoke rising above the 
trees inspired us with fresh courage, 
and we plodded on. Upon entering the 
grove the cheerful blaze of a camp-fire, 
glimmering on ahead, was just discern- 
ible ; with light hearts we hurried to-> 
wards it. There was a wagon, and be- 
side the fire a man, and — ^yes ! by all 
that's good — ^a woman ! 'Tis needless 
to say that we had found them. The 
old lady welcomed us warmly, but her 
partner looked very savage, and masti- 
cated tobacco at a feaHul rate, nor 
would he grant us even a nod of recog- 
nition. We flattered ourselvQS that he 
would be in better hi^mor by morning, 
and go on with us, but morning brought 
no change; he then swore "he would 
not budge an inch 'till after we had 
gone," and so wc went without him. 
After traveling some eight miles fur- 
ther we came to a spot upon the moun- 
tain free from snow, and here " Under- 
wood " told us we had better stop and 
make this peak our head-quarters, for 
it was as near to the creek as we could 
get with mules. 

This place wo named " Pine Peak," 
and it was our home for two months. 
We took up a claim upon the creek; 
but the water was too high for us to be 
able to do anything, and so we lived 
upon the Peak; making out from that 



place on frequent prospecting tours, in 
every direction. 

The first Sunday morning after onr 
settlement on the Peak, the Col. started 
out for a small walk, and was gone all 
day f when he returned he said that he 
had been down to where we left old 
Gingerly. He found the old lady still 
there, with the wagon. She was very 
much dissatisfied, and regretted having 
left Maiysville. The old man, she said, 
told her that ^' Slate Creek was no great 
shakes anyhow, and that we were wel- 
come to all we could make out of it '* — 
as for him, ''he knew what he was 
about," and, at that time, was out 
<' somewheres," hunting for something. 

It might have been three weeks after 
the Col/s walk, when, as I sat keeping 
camp, and trying to amuse myself by 
doing a little patch-work, I heard foot- 
steps approaching; and upon looking 
out of the tent my vision was greeted 
by the sight of that remarkable phiz 
attached to old Gringerly's person. 
" Where's the Col. ? " said he. " Out 
prospecting." "When will he be 
back?" "Can't say." "The old 
woman want's to see him." " Where 
is she?" "Out here, about three 
quarters." " I'll go and see her." 

Were it not for the great respect I 
ever entertained for the sensitive na- 
ture of females, I should have laughed 
when I beheld Mrs. Ot. She was 
mounted upon a very tall horse, with a 
very broad back — he appeared to be a 
very gentle sort of a horse, and to have 
passed the centre of life. Upon his 
back sat Mrs. Q., not in the manner 
you would expect to see a lady, but in 
an abortive attempt to sit astride. Mrs. 
G-., to use a homely expression, was 
short and fat, and, owing to the extreme 
brevity of her " limbs," and the im- 
mense breadth of the horse, her " ex- 
tremities," in this attempt to ride, stuck 
out on a line but slightly deviating 
from the horizontal; her dress was 
more appropriate for walking than ri- 
ding, and rather more of the aforesaid 
extremities were exposed than was 
proper for a young man to see ; over 

her shoulders was drawn an old dingy 
red shawl, and upon her head she wore 
a green sun-bonnet of extraordinary 
large dimensions, from the front of 
which was visible her lai^e round face, 
covered profusely with blushes. I think 
this was one of the most picturesque 
and refreshing incidents that I ever met 
with in the mines, and could that young 
man on the Bar have shared it with 
me, I am confident that he could have 
gone on another eighteen months very 
comfortably. " I am sorry," said the 
good woman, when I had climbed upon 
the wagon wheel so as to be somewhere 
near her, and after the old man had 
left us, " I am sorry that the Col. has 
gone away; I wished to speak with him, 
but perhaps you will do as well. I 
don't know," she continued, " what the 
intentions of the old man are ; he says 
that he has discovered something about 
twelve miles from here, but I have lost 
all oonfidence in him. I must go with 
him; I cannot help myself now. I 
have a favor to ask of you — ^it is this : 
if you do not hear from us within five 
days, I want you and the other boys to 
come over, to follow the wagon ruts on 
the snow and find us; I may need your 
assistance. Will you promise me that ?" 
" Yes, certainly, whatever assistance I 
can render you shall be given cheer- 
fully, and, in speaking for myself, I 
know that I but utter the sentiments 
of my partners." " Well, now I shall 
feel more contented ; I thank you very 
much, and, if it be possible, I will send 
the old man over to tell you where we 
are, and what we are doing; but if you 
do not hear from us do not fail to 
come." " Hallo, there ! I'm going to 
start," was the rough salutation that 
next greeted my ear. I jumped from 
the wheel, and, at Mrs. G.'s request, 
led her horse for a short distance, for, 
as she remarked, " 'tis rather hard to 
get him started, but once started he 
follows the wagon very well." 

Upon the return of my partners I 
reported proceedings during their ab- 
sence. The stipulated five days passed, 
and, hearing nothing, we rolled a few 



days' grab in our blankets and started 
oat, and found no difficulty in following 
the wagon tracks, for they were all that 
marked the hitherto unbroken surface 
of the snow. For a time our road was 
thnmgh the timber, and then we oame 
oat upon the '' Bald Hills/' where one 
of the most beautiful spectacles was 
presented that it was ever my good for- 
tone to witness. Far as the eye could 
reach was naught but snow, snow, 
8QOW— «yery rough and jagged moun- 
tun peak, far and near, was clothed 
with glaziefs, which reflected back the 
ran-imysy making those peaks to spar- 
kle in their lonely glory brilliant as cas- 
tles built of diamonds. 

The track led us to the extreme verge 
of a ridge, and here, far below us, was 
fpread out the panorama of a valley. 
If we admired those ice-bound spark- 
ling elifb, rising from a field of white, 
and lenning against the bright blue sky, 
we fonnd no less to admire here in 
Grass Valley. I have seen it in the 
ipringy and in the winter — ^in the spring, 
when the snow was melted from off the 
bottom^ leaving the mountains which 
form its walls still covered. I always 
Hkened it to a vast cathedral — one of 
nature's temples — ^I know of no better 
OffiOe. Here and there, scattered 
thtonghout the valley, and upon the 
PMmnt^iT sides, huge and stately pines 
stretched their tapering trunks far, far 
apwaids, as if supporters to the roof. 
Throngh the centre of the valley a 
luveij sheet of water wends its placid 
way in silenoe, and not a ripple breaks 
upon its surfaoe. Where was ever 
temple more beantiiul ? Carpeted with 
the brightest |reen — ^walls of the purest 
white — the blue arched sky the roof, 
sapported by tapering columns decked 
with evergreens. And then the bap- 
tismal font — that crystal stream, pure, 
clear, ealm, and beautifol as a maiden's 
brow ere any thought of care or sorrow 
hath marred it with a line. What I 
more beautiful? But in winter the 
scene changes : the carpet then is of 
pure white; the little stream is bridged 
with ice and snow; those grand trees 

are dwarfed by the.snow-drifts gathered 
round them; not a branch, nor leaf, 
nor twig but wears an icy coat of mail ; 
the sky you cannot often see, for the 
very air is white with snow. 

But without further digression, here, 
in Grass Yalley, we found Mrs. Gin- 
gerly, the sole occupant of a tent pitched 
beside the wagon. ^^The old man,'' 
said she, ''went away the day after our 
arrival here, and he may be back at 
any time.'' Scarcely had an hour 
passed when we saw the figure of a man 
rapidly approaching us, and who we 
had no difficulty in recognizing as old 
Gingerly. Upon reaching camp he 
embraced Mrs. G.— -displaying much 
more affection than I thought him ca- 
pable of — ^shook hands with us all round 
three or four times — again embraced 
Mrs. G. — sounded the war whoop— cut 
several pigeon-wings — attempted to 
turn a somerset, and fell down. He's 
mad ! whispered the Col. Mad ! Mad ! 
whispered we all. "Yes, mad with joy !" 
shouted the old man. "I've found it ! 
The richest place in California." Gold 
by the pound — ^gold by the bucket — all 
gold I Hurah for old Nelson. Go to 
your camp, boys, pack up your " plun- 
der/' bring it over, and we're off to 
" Nelson Creek," 

Now we had none too much confix 
dence in the old man, at best, and after 
this exuberance, entertained in reality 
some doubts regarding his sanity. It 
was much easier to say " pack up your 
plunder and bring it over," than to 
do it, as we had a good wagon load, 
and no wagon, or, in fact, any mode of 
conveyance but our. backs, which were 
quite unequal to the task. 

Aft«r a short consultation it was de- 
cided that the Col. should go with him, 
and we return to Pine Peak ; and should 
the Col., upon his return, report fa- 
vorably, we would then invent some 
way to take our "plunder" down there. 

For two weeks did we anxiously 
await the return of the Col., then be- 
coming alarmed at his long absence, 
determined to make a trip to the Val- 
ley. We were just about to start when 



he made his appearance, very much ex- 
hausted, and but little disposed to an- 
swer our inquiries regarding Nelson 
Creek — ^he laconically replied "Awm- 

"Then we had better move down to 
our claim on Slate Creek, and com- 
mence the dam ?" 


Down upon the claim we went, where 
a great deal of time and hard labor was 
uselessly expended. For several weeks 
previous to the completion of our dam, 
people were continually coming down 
the hill, crossing the creek just above 
us, and ascending on the other side. 
At this we were much surprised, and 
upon inquiring learned that they came 
from the " Forks of the Yuba," and 
were bound for Nelson Creek. Wish- 
ing to be of some service to our fellow- 
men, wo stopped all that we could, and 
advised them to return to the " Forks," 
telling them that we had been to Nel- 
son's, and it was a " humbug ;" but not 
a single man could we induce to turn 
back, and we were yet more surprised 
to find that none came back. 

Having finished our dam, turned the 
creek, and made the unhappy discov- 
ery that the " bed-rook" was " destitute 
of gravel," and that the "crevices 
pitched down stream," we shoulder- 
ed our blankets, and started out for 
Nelson's, via Grass Valley. The Col. 
desiring to go no further than the Val- 
ley, we left him there and proceeded 
on. At the Creek we found every inch 
of ground claimed, and every claim 
paying handsomely. 

Here we learned that old Q-ingerly, 
when at Marysville, had been offered 
fourteen thousand dollars to- find a route 
by which the emigration, by way of 
Noble's Pass, could come into that 
place ; and we also learned that the old 
man having offered the Col. half to as- 
sist him, they, instead of prospecting 
Nelson's Creek, crossed it and pros- 
pected the mountains above for a wag- 
on road. 

We returned to. the Valley, bad a 
quarrel with the Colonel, hired mules, 

went to Slato Creek, packed our pro* 
visions and household goods over to the 
Valley, sold them, and disbanded the 

The Colonel started a little grocery in 
the Valley, my other partners returned 
to Marysville, and I, joining another 
company, went further into the moun- 
tains, was fortunate enough to have a 
" streak of luck " and " strike a good 

Later in the fall I passed again 
through Grass Valley, on my way to 
San Francisco. This time, I found 
that Gingerly had erected a log house, 
and that Mrs. Gingerly " furnished 
meals to strangers." The old man 
amused himself by acting as guide to 
such as desired his services. The fol- 
lowing, I learned, was a common prac- 
tice with that gentleman : He had in 
his possession several very fine speci- 
mens of pure gold — ^the same, probably, 
that were used to entice Mrs. G. from 
Marysville. These he represented to 
new comers as from secret diggings of 
his own, and would stipulate, providing 
they would make up a party of eight 
or ten, to guide them to the place for 
the sum of fifty dollars each. The 
party made up, and the cash paid down, 
they would start out ; but, their guide 
entertaining an aversion to highways 
and beaten paths, would lead them 
through immense fields of chapparcl, 
up and down the* roughest and most 
abrupt mountains, and by altering his 
course each day, would, in less than a 
month's time, manage to lose them ; 
and, leaving them lost amid the mount- 
ain wilds, return to the valley. When 
these unfortunate men, exhausted, 
nearly famished, and almost destitute 
of clothing, came straggling in, he 
would be out with another party, and 
thus far managed to elude for the time 
that punishment he so justly deserved, 
and surely would have received, could 
those men have met him. 

The spring following, I met my old 
partner, the Colonel, in San Francisco, 
and from him I learned that Old Gin- 
gerly, with his blankets upon his back, 



Etarted out one morning alone^ intend- 
ing to go to some place over the monnt- 
He was never seen or heard of 


aflerwards. He probably perished on 
the moantain — ^how, when, or where, 
ms never known. He probably lost 
himself afl he lost others, and famished; 
he may have fallen a victim to the car- 
nivorous appetites'^of wild beasts ; or, 
perhaps some of those whom he had so 
cruelly deceived and led astray, may 
have satiated a wish for revenge, by 
taking the old man's life : but very 
certain it is, he has never yet '^ turned 

Mrs. Gingerly remained in Grass 
Valley some two months after his last 
departure, and having such good cause 
to believe herself again a widow, sold 
out her establishment, closed up the 
business of Gingerly &, Co., and re- 
paired to San Francisco : and being 
thoroughly disgusted with life in Cali- 
fornia, engaged passage on the first 
steamer bound out, and in due time 
was landed safely in New York. And 
in some portion of that State she now 
resides, living contentedly among old 
friends, and frequentlv, during the long 
winter evenings, enlivens the fireside 
by the recital of her adventures and 
the doings of Gingerly & Co. in the 
monntains of California. 


BY W. H. D, 



A^m I'm with yoa, are yon not with me 1 
I m#«B, iaelined to read what I may write 'j^ 
Dear poblie, let me tell you, Vm a free, 
Aed iiMlepeBdeoi thinker, and indite 
My own opinions as you here may see, 
And I will back them up in a free Bghi ) 
I doo't mean with a pistol, sword or fist, — 
Tm neiiher duelist or pugilist. 


Bat is a war of words I'm ever ready, 
Boldly to prove the truth of what I sa v. 
I like a miad well grounded, firm and steady, 
Ob all the questions that convulse the day ;— > 
To make a rhyme I'll introduce one Neddy, 
But Ned, he's called the returned runaway ; 
Of all the villains out of the supernal, 

people think he is the most infernal. 


At least so thou^t those honored vig^Iant^, 
Who governed San Francisco for a time. 
They made some, very hardened scoundrels ante- 
Date their deaths to expiate their crime ; 
Justice was swiA and more severe than Dante, 
With his stem face ; his acts quite as sublime 
As are the writings of that master mind, 
An intellectual giant of mankind. 


The viffilanee committee 8o much frightened 
This Ned. or Neddy, that he ran away ; 
I've heard it said his famous moustache whitened 
Through fear that round his neck a noose might 

A desperate game, by being too much tightened ) 
How true it is I don't pretend to say ;— • 
The game he liked the best, no doubt, was poArer, 
But turned his back upon a game o[ choker, 


Some say his face and moustache both were 

And in disguise he took his sudden flight. 
As if the deuce was after him, nor slackened 
His pace till he ^ot in a woful plight; 
He was so cunning that they never trackened 
His footsteps after he got out of sight ; 
The tale or all his sufferings I discard,—- 
Surely, ** The way of the transgressor 's hard." 


He left in haste and he returned at leisure j 
To leave was not according to his taste, 
But be returned because it was his pleasure. 
And since, his presence our fair State has graced, 
Or rather diseraced it beyond all measure. 
Because he chose no longer then to waste 
His sweetness on the dreary desert, where 
Naught could be plundered but the earth and air. 


Others the said committee had to banish ; 
It would have been much belter to have strung 
Them all up by their necks, for they but vanish 
From this vicinity to go unhung. 
In other cities for fresh crimes, like Spanish 
Robbers the desolate wild hills among, 
Who daily rq^ and ever go Mcot free, 
Because the laws cannot enforced be. 


I'll change my subject — for this epic poem, 
Or, " not an epic/' which I meant to say; 
1 have no hero chosen, in my proem, 
I should have told you, that for every day, 
rd have a new one, and 1 yet will snow ^em 
All up in time, in my disjointed way; 
1 certainly was lame in the omission. 
Nor can I now correct it by transition. 


These daily heroes though are only tupet. 
And I'm the chief of all me mongrel band. 
At times they'll come up singly, then in groups, 
Some good, some bad, just as I may command, 
Gentle as Jambs, or fierce as the wild hups, 
When famished tearing every thing at hand ; 
Myself »ha11 often occupy these rhymes. 
To swell the cadence and give deeper chimes. 




I think ill the next staosa I'll begin 

To tell you about what I like myself; 

I'll make the effort, and I hope to win 

Your strict attention $ it is not for pelf, 

Alone, 1 very lonely sit and spin 

1'he threads of thought from off the secret shelf 

Of my poor brain : 1 sometimes sigh for fame, 

And nope to win at least an honored name. 

I love to see the first faint streaks of dawa. 
While fair Aurora oshers in the day } 
I love to see her golden chariot drawn 
Among the glowing parple clouds that lay 
Enraptured on the roseate breast of morn $ 
I love to see the glorious sun display 
His beams transcendent o'er the earth and skies, 
While nature*8 joyous orisons arise. 


I love the splendor of the dewey grass, 
And more, I love the glory of the flowers ; 
I love to see a placid fake, like glass, 
Reflecting all iu margin's shady bowers ; 
I love to watch the transient rain-bow p&M 


I like the budding beauties. of sweet spring, 

I like the river as it flows alone, 

I like to hear the birds so sweetly sing. 

And all the music of the brooklet's song ; 

Sweet is the fragrance which the flowers fling 

Upon the air, the breezes waft along ; 

I love each feature of fair nature's face. 

For there the Almighty's power and love I trace. 


I love Ihe'radiance of the sun at noon, 
The stars that gem the ebon vault of nig^; 
I love to gaze upon the jgentle moon, 
While earth is sfeepinr in her silvery light 5 
'Tis then I love an ola familiar tune, 
Giving the heart a pensive, dear delight 3 
I love to gaze into the heavens above. 

All radiant with our God's eternal love. 



I love to see the mountain rise sublime, 
Whose snows eternal glow against the sky. 
Unchanged by all the fierce assaults of time. 
Where beauty's spirit sits enthroned on high 5 
I love far up those loAy heights to climb, 
And feel the soul's eternity draw nirh, 
Soaring above (he things of time and sense, 
Amidst that eloquent magnificence. 


I love to sail upon the boundless sea. 
And view its ever restless billows roll ; 
'Tis earth's best emblem of eternity. 
And a fit tvpe of everv human soul. 
Which sinks and swells, striving in vain to free 
Itself from earth's strong fetters which control, 
'Till the freed spirit on the eternal shore 
Finds a sweet rest where storms shall come no 


I love the human form and face divine, 
Filled with a beauty that shall not departs— 
Where virtue, purity and love combine ; 
These can the sweetest, dearest joys impart. 
O, could 1 find one pure and holy shrine 
Like this, what rapture to my lonely heart 
'Twould bring, to call it mine and only mine, ^- 
That joy is not (or me, sach hopes I most res^. 


O, friendship, love, and purity and truth. 
In our best moments how we worship these ; 
They are the aspirations of oar youin. 
Our bliss on earth and in the eternities ; 
We yearn, and strive and pray, and yet forsooth. 
How few attain to these blest destinies. 
Where all is joy without and peace wiUiin, 
And God our reiuge in this world of sin. 


What follies lead our wavering hearts astray. 
What passions tempt our feet to step aside 
From Virtue's and Contentment's peaceful way ; 
How ofl amid the tbouehtless throng we slide 
From duty's path and find that the^ betray. 
And lead us up the rugged mountain side, 
Where storms and fearful tempests ever rage. 
To lionize our souls thro' life's dark pilgrimage. 


'Tis past the midnight's quiet solemn hour, 
The weary world once more is hushed to rest 5 
The dews are gently falling on each flower, 
But naught can still the sorrows in my breast ; 
Oblivion come with thy mysterious power. 
And in forgctfulness let me be blest j 
I find no balm to give my spirit peace. 
Bring Lethe's cup and bid the tumult oease. 


My sonsr is hushed, and on the air of nigbt 
I'M kindly whisper in thine ear, farewell I 
Dear friend, I hope you here fine) some delight, 
Some peaceful tnoagfats may in your memory 

From these my midnight musings ^ it is rirht 
That I should cease from this exciting spell : 
Good night ! good night I now dies my pensive 

Good night ! good night ! till we shall meet again. 


ERS. — Never aek anything of a ohUd at any 
time that is the least unreasonable — but 
always demand, and without hesitation, that 
what you do oik shall be promptly attended 

" Editing a newspaper or maeazine is a 
good deal like making a fire. Everybody 
supposes he can do it 'a little better than 
anybody else.' We have seen people donbt 
their fitness for apple-peddling, driving oxen, 
counting lath, and hoeing turnips, but, in all 
our experience, we never yet met with that 
individual who did not think he could 'double 
the circulation ' of any paper or periodical 
in two months.'' 






sc^Bcmr OF ulborino men— high wages — 


TAUtY m ALL Ptmaurra — disappointed 


A most useful aoality for a California em- 
igrmnt was one which the Americanfl pos- 
sess in a pre-eminent degree — a natural 
leraatility of disposition^ and adaptability 
to erery deacription of pursuit or oecnpa- 

The numbers of the different classes 
Sarmia^ the community were not in the 
proportion requisite to preserve its equilib- 
riua. Trmosplantinff one's self to Califor- 
nia from any part of Uie world, involved an 
outlay beyona the means of the bulk of the 
labonrini^ clasaes; and to those who did 
oome to the country, the mines were of 
oooraatke great point of attraction; so that 
in Saa Fruncisco the numbers of the la- 
bouriaK and of the working classes gener- 
ally, were not nearly equal to the demand. 
Tfaie consequence was that labourers' and 
Bechanica' wages were ridiculously high ; 
and, aa a geneiral thing, the lower the de- 
•cription of the labour, or of service, re- 
qnirad* the more extravagant in proportion 
vere tbe wages paid. Sailors' w^w were 
tvo mod three hundred doUara per month, 
iad tbere were hundreds of ships lying idle 
in the bay for the want of crews to man 
them even at these rates. Every ship on 
her arrival, was immediately deserted by 
an bands ; for, of all people, sailors were 
the most unrestnunable in their determin- 
ation to go to the diggings ; and it was 
there a common saying, of the truth of 
vhteh I saw myself many examples, that 
uakm, niggers, and Dutchmen, were the 
luckiest men in the mines : a verv drunken 
old salt was always particularly lucky. 

Tbere was a great overplus of youn^ 
men of education, who had never dreamed 
of manual labour, and who found that their 
iervioes in their wonted capacities were 
not required in such a rough-and-ready, 
rrerj-man-for-himself sort of a place. 
Hard work, however, was generally better 
paid than bead worl^ iknd men employed 

themselves in any way, quite regardless of 
preconceived ideas of their own dignity. 
It was one intense scramble for dollars 
^-the man who got most was the best 
man — how he got them had nothing to do 
with it. No occupation was considered at 
all derogatory, and, in fact, every one was 
too much occupied with his 6wn affairs to 
trouble himself in the smallest degree 
about hi» neighbour. 

A man's actions and conduct were to- 
tally unrestrained by the ordinary conven- 
tionalities of civilized life, and, so long as 
he did not interfere with the rights of others 
he could follow his own course, for good or 
for evil, with the utmost freedom. 

Among BO many temptations to err, 
thrust prominently in one's way, without 
any social restraint to counteract them, it 
was not surprising that many men were too 
weak for such a trial, and, to use an ex- 
pressive, though not very elegant phrase, 
went to the devil. The community was 
composed of isolated individuals, each 
quite regardless of the good opinion of his 

There were, however, bright examples of 
the contrary. If there was a lavish expen- 
diture in ministering to vice, there was also 
munificence in the bestowing of charity. 
Though there were gorgeous temples for 
the worship of mammon, there was a suffi- 
ciency of schools and churches for every 
denomination ; while, under the influence 
of the constantly-increasing numbers of 
virtuous women, the standard of morals 
was steadily improving, and society, as it 
assumed a shape and form, began to assert 
its claims to respect. 

Although employment, of one sort or 
another, and good pay, were to be had by 
all who were able and willing to work, there 
was nevertheless a vast amount of misery 
and destitution. Many men had oome to 
the country with their expectations raised 
to an unwarrantable pitch, imagining that 
the mere fact of emigration to California 
would insure them a rapid fortune ; but 
when they came to experience the severe 
competition in everv branch of trade, their 
hopes were gradually destroyed by the diffi- 
culties of the realitv. 

Every kind of business, custom, and 
employment, was solicited with an impor- 
tunity little known in old countries, where 
the course of all such things is in so well- 
worn a channel, that it is not easily divert- 
ed. But here the field was open, and 
every one was striving for what seemed to 
be within the reach of all — a foremost 
rank in his own sphere. To keep one's 



place in the crowd reqaired an unremitted 
exercise of the same vigour and energy 
which were necessary to obtain it; and 
many a man, though possessed of qualities 
which wouid have enabled him to distin- 
guish himself in the quiet routine life of 
old countries, was crowded out of his place 
by the multitude of competitors, whose defi- 
ciency of merit in other respects was more 
than counterbalanced by an excess of un- 
scrupulous boldness and physical energy. 
A polished education was of little ser- 
vice unless accompanied by an unwonted 
amount of democratic feeling ; for the ex- 
treme sensitiveness which it is otherwise 
apt to produce, unfitted a man for takine 
part in such a hand-to-hand struggle with 
his fellow-man. 

Drinking was the great consolation for 
those who had not moral strength to bear 
up under their disapoint ments. Some men 
gradually obscured their intellects by in- 
creased habits of drinking, and, equally 
gradually, reached the lowest stage of mis- 
ery and want; while others went at it with 
more force, and drank themselves into 
delirium tremens before they knew where 
they were. There is something in the 
climate which superinduces it with less 
provocation than in other countries. 

But, though drunkenness was common 
enough, the number of drunken men one 
saw was small, considering the enormous 
consumption of liquor. 

In San Francisco, where the ordinary 
rate of existance was even faster than in 
the Atlantic States, men required an extra 
amount of stimulant to keep it up, and this 
fashion of drinkiog was carried to. excess. 
The saloons were crowded from early morn- 
ing till late at night ; and in each, two or 
three bar-keepers were kept unceasingly 
at work, mixing drinks for expectant 
groups of customers. They had no time 
even to sell segars, which were most fre- 
quently dispensed at a minature tobacco- 
nist's shop in another part of the saloon. 

Among the proprietors of saloons, or 
bars, the competition was so great, that, 
from having, as is usual, merely a plate of 
crackers and cheese on the counter, they 

fot the length of laying out, for several 
ours in the forenoon, and again in the 
evening, a table covered with a most sump- 
tuous lunch of soups, cold meats, fish, and 
so on, — with two or three waiters to attend 
to it. This was all free — there was noth- 
ing to pay for it : it was only expected that 
no one would partake of the good things 
without taking a "drink " afterwards. 
This sort of thing is common enough in 

New Orleans; but in a place like San 
Francisco, where the plainest dinner any 
man could eat cost a dollar, it did seem 
strange that such goodly fare should be 
provided gratuitously for all and sundry. 
It showed, however, what immense profits 
were made at the bars to allow of such an 
outlay, and gave an idea of the rivalry 
which existed even in that line of business. 

The immigration of Frenchmen bad 
been so large that some parts of the city 
were completely French in appearance ; 
the shops, restaurants, and estaminets, 
being painted according to French taste, 
and exhibiting French signs, the very let- 
ters of which had a Frencn look about them. 
The names of some of the restaurants 
were rather ambitious — as the Trois Fr^- 
res, the Caf6 de Paris, and suchlike ; but 
these were second and third-rate places ; 
those which courted the patronage of the 
upper classes of all nations, assumed names 
more calculated to tickle the American ear, 
— such as tjie Jackson House and the 
Lafayette. They were presided over by 
elegantly dressea dames du compioir, and 
all the arrangements were in Parisian 

The principal American houses were 
equally good ; and there were also an 
abundance of places where those who de- 
lighted in corn-bread, buckwheat cakes, 
pickles, grease, molasses, apple-sauce, and 
pumpkin pie, could gratify their taste to 
the fullest extent. 

There was nothing particularly English 
about any of the eating houses ; but there 
were numbers of second-rate English drink- 
ing* shops, where John Bull could smoke 
his pipe and swig his ale cooly and calmly, 
without having to gulp it down and move 
off to make way for otbers, as at the bar of 
the American saloons. 

The Germans too had their lager bier 
cellars, but the noise and smoke which 
came up from them was enough to deter 
any but a German from venturing in. 

There was also a Mexican quarter of the 
town where there were greasy-looking Mex- 
ican ybmla^, and crowds of lazy Mexicans 
lying about, wrapt up in their blankets, 
smoking cigaritas. 

In another quarter, the Chinese most did 
congregate. Here the majority of the 
houses were of Chinese importation, and 
were stores, stocked with hams, tea, dried 
fish, dried ducks, and other very nas^-look- 
ing Chinese eatables, besides copper-pots 
and kettles, fans, shawls, chessmen, and 
all sorts of curiosities. Suspended over 
the doors were brilliantly-colored boaidsi 



about the size and abape of a head-board 
orer a grave, coTercd with Chinese charac- 
iersy and with several yards of red ribbon 
streaming from them ] while the streets 
were thronged with long-tailed Celestials, 
chattering vociferously as they rushed about 
from store to store^ or standing in groups 
studying the Chinese bills posted up in the 
shop windows, which may nave been play- 
bills, — for there was a Chinese theatre, — 
or perhaps advertisements informing the 
public where the best rat- pies were to be 
had. A peculiarly nasty smell pervaded 
this locality, and it was generally believed 
that rats were not so numerous here as 

Owing to the great scarcity of washer- 
women, Chinese energy had ample room 
to display itself in the washing and iron- 
ing bnainess. Throughout the town might 
be seen occasionally over some small 
boose a large American sign, intimating 
that Ching Sing, Wong Choo,^or Ki-Cheng 
did washing and ironing at five dollars a- 
dozen. Inside these places one found two 
or three Chinamen ironing shirts with large 
flat-bottomed copper pots full of burning 
charcoali and, buried in heaps of dirty 
ciothesy half-a-dozen more, smoking, and 
drinking tea. 

The Chinese tried to keep pace with the 
rest of the world. They had their theatre 
and their gambling rooms, the latter being 
small dirty places, badly lighted with Chi- 
nese {Miper lamps. They played a pecu- 
Htf game. The dealer placed on the table 
several handful's of small copper coins, 
with square holes in them. Bets were 
made by placing the stake on one of four 
divisions, marked in the middle of the 
table, and the dealer, drawing the coins 
away from the heap, four at a time, the 
bets were decided according to whether 
one, two, three, or four remained at the 
last. They are great gamblers, and, when 
their last dollar is gone, will stake any- 
thing they possess: numbers of watches, 
rings, and such articles, were always lying 
in pawn on the table. 

The Chinese theatre was a curious pa; 
iroda-looking edifice, built by them express- 
ly for theatrical purposes, and paintea, out- 
side and in, in an extraordinary manner. 
The performances went on day and night, 
without intermission, and consisted prin- 
cipally of juggling and feats of dexterity. 
The most exciting part of the exhibition 
was when one man, and decidedly a man 
of some little nerve, made a spread eagle 
of himself and stood up against a door, 
while half-a^ozen others, at a distance of 

fifteen 'or twenty feet, pelted the door with 
sharp-pointed bowie-knives, putting a knife 
into every square inch of the doer, but 
never touching the man. It is very pleas- 
ant to see, from the unflinching way in 
which the fellow stood it out, the confidence 
he placed in the infallibility of his breth- 
ren. They had also short dramatic per- 
formancesj which were Quite unintelligible 
to outside barbarians. The only point of 
interest about them was the extraordinary 
gorgeous dresses of the actors; but the 
incessant noise they made with gongs and 
kettle-drums was so discordant and deaf- 
ening that a few minutes at a time was as 
long: as any one could stay in the place. 

There were several very good American 
theatres, a French theatre, and an Italian 
opera, besides concerts, masquerades, a 
circus, and other public amusements. The 
most curious were certainly the masquer- 
ades. They were generally given in one 
of the large gambling saloons, and in the 
placards announcing that they were to 
come off, appeared conspicuouslv also the 
intimation of " No weapons admitted ;" 
" A strong police will be in attendance.'^ 
The company was just such as might be 
seen in any gambling-room ] and, beyond 
the presence of half a-dozen masks in fe- 
male attire, there was nothing to carry out 
the idea of a ball or a masquerade at all ; 
but it was worth while to go, if only to 
watch the company arrive, and to see the 
practical enforcement of the weapon clause 
in the announcements. Several doorkeep- 
ers were in attendance, to whom each man 
as he entered delivered up his knife or his 
pistol, receiving a check for it, just as one 
does for his cane or umbrella at the door 
of a picture-gallerv. Most men draw a 
pistol from behind their back, and very 
often a knife along with it; some carried 
their bowie-knife down the back of their 
neck, or in their breast ; demure, pious- 
looking men, in white neckcloths, lifted up 
the bottom of their waistcoat, and revealed 
the butt of a revolver; others, after having 
already disgorged a pistol, pulled up the 
leg of their trousers, and abstracted a huge 
bowie-knife from their boot; and there were 
men, terrible fellows, no doubt, but who 
were more likely to frighten themselves 
than any one else, who produced a revol- 
ver from each trouser-pocket, and a bowie- 
knife from their belt, if any man declared 
that he had no weapon, the statement was 
so incredible that he had to submit to be 
searched ; an operation which was per- 
formed by the doorkeepers, who, I ob- 
served, were occasionally rewarded for 



their dili^^enee by the discoverj of a pistol 
secreted m some unnsaal part of the dress. 

Some of the shops were very magoifi- 
oently got up. The watchmakers* and 
jewellers' shops especially were very 
numerous, and made a great display of 
immense gold watches, enormous gold 
rings and chains, with gold-headed canes, 
and diamond pins and brooches of a most 
formidable size. With numbers of men, 
who found themselves possessed of an 
amount of money which ihey had never 
before dreamed of, and which they had no 
idea what to do with, the purchase of gold 
watches and diamond pins was a very fa- 
vorite mode of gettin? rid of their spare 
cash. Laboring men »stened their coarse 
dirty shirts with a cluster of diamonds the 
size of a shilling, wore colossal gold rings 
on their fingers, and displayed a massive 
gold chain and seals from their watch- 
pocket; while hardly a man of any conse- 
quence returned to the Atlantic States, 
without receiving from some one of his 
friends a huge gold-headed cane, with all 
his virtues and good qualities engraved 
upon it. 

A large business was also done in Chi- 
nese shawls, and various Chinese curios- 
ities. It was greatly the fashion for men, 
returning home, to take with them a quan- 
tity of such articles, as presents for their 
friends. In fact a gorgeous Chinese shawl 
seemed to be as necessary for the return- 
ing Californian, as a revolver and bowie- 
knife for the California emigrant. 

On the arrival of the fortnightly steamer 
from Panama with the mails from the At- 
lantic States and from Europe, the distri- 
bution of letters at the post-office occa- 
sioned a very singular scene. In San 
Francisco no such thing existed as a post- 
man ; every one had to call at the post- 
office for his letters. The mail usually 
consisted of several wagon-loads of letter- 
bags; and on its being received, notice 
was given at the post-office, at what hour 
the delivery would commence, a whole day 
being frequently required to sort the let- 
ters, which were then delivered from a row 
of half-a-dozen windows, lettered A to E, 
F to E, and so on through the alphabet. 
Independently of the immense mercantile 
correspondence, of course every man in 
the city was anxiously expecting letters 
from home ; and for hours before the ap- 

Sointed time for opening the windows, a 
ense crowd of people collected, almost 
blocking up the two streets which gave ac- 
cess to the post-office, and having the ap- 
pearance at a distance of being a mob ; 

but on coming up to it, one would find 
that, though closely packed together, the 
people were all in six strings, twisted up 
and down in all directions, tne commence- 
ment of them being the lucky individuals 
who had been first on the ground, and 
taken up their position at their respective 
windows, while each new-comer had to 
fall in behind those already waiting. Not- 
withstanding the value of time, and the 
impatience felt by every individual, the 
most perfect order prevailed: there was 
no such thing as a man attempting to push 
himself ahead of those already waiting, 
nor was there the slightest respect of per- 
sons ; every new-comer quietly took his 
position, and had to make the best of it, 
with the prospect of waiting for hours 
before he could hope to reach the window. 
Smoking and chewing tobacco were great 
aids in passing the time, and many came 
provided with books and newspapers, 
which they could read in perfect tranauil- 
ity, as there was no uncecessary crowding 
or jostling. The principle of " first come 
first served " was strictly adhered to, and 
any attempt to infringe the established 
rule would have been promptly put down 
by the omnipotent majority. 

A man's place in the line was his indi- 
vidual property, more or less valuable ac- 
cording to his distance from the window, 
and, like any other piece of property, it 
was bought and sold, and converted into 
cash. Those who had plenty of dollars to 
spare, but could not affi^rd much time, 
could buy out some one who had already 
spent several hours in keeping his place. 
Ten or fifteen dollars were frequently paid 
for a good position, and some men went 
there early, and waited patiently, without 
any expectation of getting letters, but for 
the chance of turning their acquired ad- 
vantage into cash. 

The post-office clerks got through their 
work briskly enough when once they com- 
menced the delivery, the alphabetical sys- 
tem of arrangement enabling them to pro- 
duce the letters immediately on the name 
being given. One was not kept long in 
suspense, and many a poor fellow's tace 
lengthened out into a doleful expression 
of disbelief and disappointment, as, scarce- 
ly had he uttered his name, when he was 
promptly told there was nothing for him. 
This was a sentence from which there was 
no appeal, however incredulous one might 
be; and every man was incredulous ; ip^ 
during the hour or two he had been wait- 
ing, he had become firmly convinced m 
his own mind that there must be a letter 



for him; and it wm no satisfmction at all 
to see the clerk, surronnded as he was by 
thoasands of letters, take only a packet of 
a dozen or so in which to look for it : one 
woald like to have had the poet-office 
searched all over, and if without succesSi 
would still have thought there was some- 
thing wrong. I was myself upon one oc- 
casion deeply impressed with tnis spirit of 
unbelief in the infallibility of the post-office 
oracle, and tried the effect of another ap- 
plication the next day, when my persever- 
ance was crowned with success. 

There was one window devoted exclu- 
sively to the use of foreigners ; and here 
a polyglot individual, who would have been 
a useful member of society in the Tower 
of Babel, answered the aemands of all 
European nations, and held communica- 
tion with Chinamen, Sandwich Islanders, 
and all the stray specimens of humanity 
from unknown parts of the earth. 

One reason why men went to little trou- 
ble or expense in making themselves com- 
fortable in their homes, if homes they could 
be called, was the constant danger of fire. 

The city was a mass of wooden and 
eanrass buildings, the very look of which 
suggested the idea of a conflagration. A 
room was a mere partioned-off place, the 
walls of which were sometimes only of 
canvass, though generally of boards, loose- 
ly pat together, and covered with any sort 
if material which happened to be most 
convenient — cotton cloth, printed calico, 
or drugget, frequently papered, as if to 
render it more inflammable. Floors and 
walls were by no means so exclusive as 
one is accustomed to think them ; they 
were not transparent certainly, but other- 
wise they insured little privacy : a general 
conversation could be very easily carried 
on by all the dwellers in a house, while, at 
the same time, each of them was enjoying 
the seclusion, such as it was, of his own 
apartnent. A young lady, who was board- 
ing at one of the hotels, verpr feelingly 
remarked, that it was a most disagreeable 
place to live in, because if any gentleman 
was to pop the question to her, the report 
would be audible in every part of the house, 
and all the other inmates would be waiting 
to bear the answer. 

Tbe cry of fire is dreadful enough any- 
where, but to any one who lived in San 
Frmactseo in those days, it must ever be 
man exciting and more suggestive of 
disaster and destruction of property, than 
it ems be to those who have oeen all their 
fives snrrcnnded by brick and stone, and 
iaavnui€9 companies* 

In other countries, when a fire occurs, 
and a large amount of property is destroy 
ed, the loss falls on a company — a body 
without a soul, having no individual iden- 
tity, and for which no one, save perhaps a 
few of the share-holders, has the slightest 
sympathy. The loss, being sustained by 
an unknown quantity, as it were, is not 
appreciated ; but in San Francisco no such 
institution as insurance against fira as yet 
existed. To insure a house there, would 
have been as great a risk as to insure a 
New York steamer two or three weeks 
overdue. By degrees, brick buildings were 
superseding those of wood and pasteboard ; 
but still, for the whole city, destruction by 
fire, sooner or later, was the dreaded and 
fully-expected doom. When such a com- 
bustible town once ignited in any one spot, 
the flames, of course, spread so rapidly that 
every part, however distant, stood nearly 
an equal chance of being consumed. The 
alarm pf fire acted like the touch of a 
magician's wand. The vitality of the whole 
city was in an instant arrested, and turned 
from its course. Theatres, saloons, and all 
public places, were emptied as quickly as 
if the buildings themselves were on nre ; 
the business of the moment, whatever it 
was, was at once abandoned, and the 
streets became filled with people rushing 
frantically in every direction — not all to- 
wards the fire by any means ; few thought 
it worth while to ask even where it was. 
To know there was a fire somewhere was 
quite sufficient, and they made at once for 
their house or their store, or wherever they 
had any property that might be saved; 
while, as soon as the alarm was given, the 
engines were heard thundering along the 
streets, amid the ringing of the fire-bells 
and the shouts of the excited crowd. 

Their esprit de corps is very strong, and 
connected with the different engine-houses 
are leadiag-rooms, saloons, and so on, for 
the use of the members of the company, 
many of these places being in the same 
style of luxurious magnificence as the most 
fashionable hotels. On holidays, and on 
every possible occasion which offers an 
excuse for so doing, the whole fire brigade 
parade the streets in full dress, each com- 
pany dragging their engine after them, 
decked out in flags and flowers, which are 
presented to them by their lady-ad mirors, 
in return for the balls given by the firemen 
foir their entertainment. They also have 
field-days, when they all turn^H, and in 
some open part of the city h4H trial of 
strengtn, seeing which oan throw a stream 
of water to the greatest height, or 



can flood the other, by pumping water into 
each other^s engines. 

As firemen they are most prompt and 
efficient, performing their perilous duties 
with the greatest zeal and intrepidity — ^as 
might, indeed, be expected of men who 
undertake such a service for no hope of 
reward but for their own love of the dan- 
ger and excitement attending upon it, act- 
uated, at the same time, by a chivalrous 
desire to save either life or property, in 
trying to accomplish which they gallantly 
risk, and frequently lose, their own lives. 
This feeling is kept alive by the readiness 
with which the public pay honor to any 
individual who conspicuously distinguishes 
himself — ^generally by presenting him with 
a gold or silver speaking trumpet, while 
any fireman who is killed in discharge of 
his duties is buried with all pomp and 
ceremony by the whole fire-brigade. 

Three miles above San Francisco, on the 
shore of the bay, is the Mission of Dolores, 
one of those which were established in 
different parts of the country by the Span- 
iards. It was a very small village of a few 
adobe houses and a church, adjoining 
which stood a large building, the abode of 
the priests. The land in the neighborhood 
is flat and fertile, and was being rapidly 
converted into market-gardens ; but the 
village itself was as yet but little changed. 
It had a look of antiquity and complete- 
ness, as if it had been finished long ago, 
and as if nothing more was ever likely to 
be done to it. As is the case with all 
Spanish American towns, the very style of 
the architecture communicated an oppres- 
sive feeling of stillness, and its gloomy 
solitude was only relieved by a few listless 
unoccupied-looking Mexicans and native 

The contrast to San Francisco was so 
great, that on coming out here one could 
almost think that the noisy city he had left 
but half an hour before had existence only 
in his imagination ; for San Francisco 
presented a picture of universal human 
nature boiling over, while here was nothing 
but human stagnation — a more violent 
extreme than would have been the wilder- 
ness as yet untrodden by man. Being but 
a slightly reduced counterpart of what San 
Francisco was a year or two before, it 
offered a good point of view from which to 
contemplate the miraculous growth of that 
city, still not only increasing in extent, but 
improving in beauty and in excellence in 
all its parts, and progressing so rapidly 
that, almost from day to da^, one could 
mark its steady advancement in everything 

which denotes the presence of a wealthy 
and prosperous community. 

The ** Mission," however, was not suffered 
to remain long in a state of torpor. A 
plank road was built to it from San Fran- 
cisco. Numbers of villas sprang up around 
it, — and good hotels, a race-course, and 
other attractions soon made it the favorite 
resort for all who sought an hour's relief 
from the excitement of the city. 

At the very head of the bay, some fifty 
miles from San Francisco, is the town of 
San Jose, situated in an extensive and 
most fertile valley, which was all being 
brought under cultivation, and where some 
farmers had already made large fortunes 
by their onions and potatoes, for the growth 
of which the soil is peculiarly adapted. 
San Jose was the head quarters of the 
native Californians, many of whom were 
wealthy men, at least in so far as they 
owned immense estates and thousands of 
wild cattle. They did not "bold their 
own," however, with the more enterprising 
people who were now effecting such a com- 
plete revolution in the country. Their 
property became a thousand-fold more val- 
uable, and they had every chance to benefit 
by the new order of things; but men who 
had passed their lives in that sparsely pop- 
ulated and secluded part of the world, 
directing a few half-savage Indians in 
herding wild cattle, were not exactly cal- 
culated to foresee, or to speculate upon, 
the effects of an overwhelming influx of 
men so different in all respects from them- 
selves ; and even when occasions of en- 
riching themselves were forced upon them, 
they were ignorant of their own advanta- 
ges, and were inferior in smartness to the 
men with whom they had to deal. Still, 
although too slow to keep up with the pace 
at which the country was now going ahead, 
many of them were, nevertheless, men of 
considerable sagacity, and appeared to no 
disadvantage as members of the legisla- 
ture, to which they were returned from 
parts of the State remote from the mines, 
and where as yet there were few American 

San Jose was quite out of the way of 
gold-hunters, and there was consequently 
about the place a good deal of the Califo^ 
nia of other days. It was at that time, how- 
ever, the seat of government ; and, conse- 
quently, a large number of Americans 
were here assembled, and gave some li^ 
to the town, which had also been improved 
by the addition of several new streets of 
more modern-looking houses than the old 



mod and tile conoerns of the native Gali- 

Small steamers plied to Alviso, within 
aboat ten miles of the town, from San Fran- 
cisco, and there were also four-horse coach- 
es which did the fifty miles in about five 
boors. The drive down the valley of the 
San Joae is in some parts very beautiful. 
The country is smooth and open — not so 
flat aa to appear monotonous — and is suf- 
ficentiv wooded with fine oaks ; towards 
San Francisco it becomes more hilly and 
ble^k. The soil is sandy ; indeed, except- 
ing a few spots here and there, it is nothing 
but sand, and there is hardly a tree ten 
feet high within as many miles of the city. 

(OofUinued,) • 


Fireside I ercniog fireside ! 

Within my childhood's home ; 
Oh 1 the ever-pleasant memories 

That round thee clustering comeJ 
The clean-swept hearth, the cheerful grate, 

The mantel with its flowers ; 
While in the comer stood the clock, 

T^t struck the evening hours. 

There sat mv kind, old mother. 

Her knitting in her hand ; 
While her work lay down beside her, 

On the old household stand. 
Her mild, meek face, her loving eye, 

The gentle voice of yore ; — 
Oh ! I could roam this weaiy world, 

To bear that sound once more. 

There sat my aged father. 

With scattered locks and gray, 
Bowed down with many a well-spent year, 

And many a hard-toiled day. 
Wondering, we listened while he read. 

And many a gem of gold, 
Lay treasured in the ancient page, 

Of the glorious minds of old. 

There lay the old gray house-dog 

Benide my father's knee ; 
And pnas upon the hearth-rug slept. 

So warm and cosily. 
The pitcher stood before the fire, 

With well-pressed cider filled, 
Aad russet apples by its side, 

Their generous scent distilled. 

Fireside! evening fireside ! 

Within mv childhood's home ; 
Oh ! bow I love to think of thee, 

WbereVr I rest or roam ! 
And gladly would I leave the halls 

Where wealth and pleasure reign. 
To sit down by that cheerful fire, 

Among my friends again. 

o. T. 8. 




Things remained in this situation for 
two or Uiree weeks ; they were polite and 
considerate of each others' feelings j they 
were strangers to each other in every re- 
spect ; they were man and wife only by 
law; not in heart. These were the terms 
upon which Charles consented to have her 
come to his home. They both thought 
much of this, neither wishing to break the 
bounds first. Charles had been to the city 
and did not return home until late in the 
evening; and having seen Adeline, he 
again neard many reports derogative to 
his wife's virtue. He thought that his 
conduct perhaps was the cause of Kate's 
falling in love with Bently; but said to 
himself, if I find Bently interfering in this 
affair, I will call him to account for trving 
to bring disgrace on my house. I can bear 
anything better than disgrace, by my wife. 

While these thoughts were passing in his 
mind, he neared the old mansion, when he 
saw the door open and a man pass out, 
while he held the hand of a female ; he 
gazed in astonishment ; could that be 
Kate, whom he thought pure in heart, even 
if he did not love her ? He thought her 
his honorable wife, and as his wife he 
would not see her dishonored in any way. 
For the first time in his life, he telt the 
annoying pangs of jealousy corroding a 
heart naturally unsuspicious. Keeping 
his eye on the figure of the man who had 

I'ust left the house, he soon came up with 
lim, and eyeing him closely, was almost 
sure it was Bently, but was not certain. 
On going near the house, he heard Kate 
singing and playin/^ a favorite piece of his, 
in a sweet and plamtive voice ; he stood 
transfixed to the spot until the voice ceas- 
ed, and he thoughs he heard low sobs. 
He knocked, and Dinah opened the door 
to admit her young master. Charles' eyes 
immediately sought Kate, and one look 
was sufficient to tell him that she had been 
weeping. His heart smote him for his 
unkmd suspicions and cold, unsocial con- 
duct towards her. 

*' Are you not sitting up quite late, Mrs. 
McClure ?^' he enquired. 

'* Yes, rather late,^' said Kate ; and im- 
mediately rising from her chair, she bid 
him gooQ night, and retired : glad to be 
alone, where she could weep unobserved 
, by any one. 



** What could that old sailor mean by 
his singular caution to me relative to my 
enemies? It was very kind of him to come 
and see me before he leaves for California : 
and to promise to call on my mother, ana 
tell her my unpleasant situation. Poor 
Jack, be is honest, or the tears would not 
have flowed down his cheeks when he bid 
me good by, just before Charles came in. 
I wonder who my enemies are, about whom 
Jack has told me so often, and with such 
evident concern. I will do what is right, 
and then I need not fear ;" and, commit- 
ting all to Gtod, she retired to rest 

For several days Charles watched Kate 
with feverish impatience to find out her 
every thought, as he had began to feel a 
peculiar interest in Kate. 

Thiuffs were in this state, when Charles 
received a note from Mrs. Milford, re- 
questing the pleasure of his and his wife's 
company at her house at nine in the eve- 
ning. Charles handed it to Kate, and 
asked her if she would like to attend. 

^* I feel very much honored by the invi- 
tation,'' answered Kate ; *' but unless you 
very much wish me to go, I would prefer re- 
maming at home.'' 

*^ You are at liberty to decide for your- 
self," Charles replied, evidently much dis- 
appointed at her not accepting the invita- 

In the evening he attended the party, 
and delivered his wife's excuse to Mrs. 
Milford, who expressed her regret, as she 
was in hopes of seeing her, not having had 
that pleasure for some time, and had given 
the party almost on her account. Charles 
could scarcely conceal his participation in 
her disappointment. The evening had few 
enjoyments for Charles, and he excused 
himself as soon as possible ; and, accom- 
panied by an old iiriend, thev concluded to 
spend an hour or two in a fashionable ice 
cream saloon. Calling for ice cream and 
some nice fruit, they were enjoying them- 
selves, when a door leading to another 
room was discovered to be partly open ; 
there sat Bently by a table well filled with 
luxuries, and with his arm around a lady 
in a familiar manner. Charles was afraid 
to scrutiniEe the lady, lest his suspicions 
should be realized ; as he strongly suspect- 
ed it to be Kate. He was not KHig in tiiis 
state of mind, for the oonple arose and 
left ; and Charles, seeing a white handker- 
chief lying on the floor, entered the room 
and picked it up ; and, taming it over in 
his hand, he read the name of '' Kate 
Hayes." Completely overcome, he sank 
upon a chair and looked at it again and 

again. Yes, it was Kate's, be knew it I 
It was the redeemed, the fatal handker- 
chief^ Oh ! how much unhappiness it had 
cost him. It had blasted him twice. It 
had opened his eyes in one short moment, 
like Mother Eve's apple, to'a full analyza- 
tion of his feelings for Kate I 

*' Yes," said he, " it is love that I feel 
for this erring wife of mine : why have I 
not discovered it before ? Oh 1 were she 
innocent, and loved me, I should be the 
happiest man in the world I 

Cnarles excused himsdf from his old 
friend, and make his way home ; and, on 
reaching there, he determined to reveal to 
her his discovery, and tell herof her perfidy. 
• *^ Where is your mistress, Dinah ?" said 
Charles ; '^ I wish to speak to her." 

** Why, lor massa Charles, she gone out 
this evenin' with a gentleman to see sick 
woman. I think she stays a long time : 
she was not well when she went out; I 
knowed she was not, for she was as white 
as a sheet, and was crying all the evening. 
Why, what is the matter, massa Charles, 
are you sick ?" 

" Oh ! no, Dinah, you may go to bed, 
and I will wait for your mistress." 

*^ Oh no, massa. you go to bed." 

'* Don't stand there talking, yon old ne- 
gress, but go to bed immediately." 

Dinah obeyed in a fright, not being 
accustomed to such treatment. Charles 
waited for two long hours before he heard 
a carriage stop in front of the mansion, 
and heara a gentle tap at the door. He 
arose and admitted Kate ; and her com- 
panion drove o£f without being recognized 
oy him. 

'' Where is Dinah ?" said Kate. 

'' I sent her to bed, as I preferred to 
wait for you myself, as I have much to say 
to you," was the answer. 

This evening, Kate, for the first time, 
noticed his pale and haggard looks. Sbe 
threw off her bonnet and shawl ; and tak- 
ing a chair, awaited his speech. 

Charles strode across the room and 
looked at Kate ; she did not look criminal, 
but as pure as fallen snow. 

'* I supposed you were unable to be out 
this evening, Mrs. McClure," he began, 
''as you stated in your excuse to Mrs. 
Milford ; and yet I find you out quite late ; 
will you explain yourself, as 1 believe t 
have a right to demand an explanation ? " 

" You have, Charles," Kate quietly re- 
plied; ''and it will give me pleasure to 
nave the privilege of explaining all to vou. 
Do you remember that Methodist preacher, 
Mr. Allen, who married us ?" 



** Te^ and what of htm?'' 

<' Why," said EjUe, " his sister adopted 
a child Uiat was illegitimate, belonging to 
s joBiif^ lady in Charleston, and now the 
yoanf^ lady denies the child, and its sup- 
port ; aad the woman has become sick and 
dettitate, and in her extremity she thouf^ht 
of f oar sainted mother's charity, and call- 
ed oo her for aid, not knowing that she 
was dead ; but I did not send her avmy 
eiBDtT. This morning she became worse, 
and the doctor told her that she would not 
Btb through the night; and she begged 
him to come for me, as she wished to leave 
that little helpless babe to my charity. She 
died a few moments before I left, and I 
engaged the woman to take care of the 
child until I oonld consult you in the 

** Yon have relieTed my heart of a heavy 
load, indeed ; but there is still a mystery 
that I shall wish cleared up.'' 

"A mystery I what is it?'' enquired 
Kate. *' I do not comprehend you." 

Chailes pulled the handkerchief from 
his pocket which he found in the saloon, 
and told her where and how he found it, 
aad all the particulars of his suspicions ; 
" and/* added he, '' thev were unwelcome 
nupicions to my heart." 

The big^ tears gathered in Kate*s eyes ; 
and rifling, she attempted to go to him ; 
hut (aUing back in her chair, she said : 

^ Charles, I am innocent of the heinous 
crime yoQ would impute to me. That 
handkerchief is mine, and I will — ^I must 
tell yon how it left my possession." 

She then related to him all that had 
passed between her and Bently, and the 
ftrataipem that Adaline had planned for 
her destmcCioo ; her escape from and her 
pledge to Bently ; and or her forgiveness 
for the part he had taken towards her ; and 
that she believed Bently was truly sorry 
for his blind passion, as he had treated her 
like a brother from that moment; and that 
she belieTed his error was more of the head 
than of the heart. 

^ Mrs. McClnre, I believe that yon have 
not deceived me ; to-morrow afternoon we 
wUl talk this matter over again, as it is 
now getting late, and we had better retire." 
He approached her, and taking her 
hand ta his, he pressed it to his lipe, and 
■aid : *' If I have wronged yon, will you 
fofgive me ?" 

** Yon have indeed my forgiveness : I 
am sorry that I have been the cause or so 
much aneasiness to you.** 

Withdrawing her hand, she retired, and 
Charles threw mmself on the sofa, and ere 


he was aware he was sound asleep : nor 
did he awake until morning, on hearing 
some one near him. He saw that it was 
Elate. She thought him asleep, and softly 
approached the sofa. Charles did not 
move, as he felt very anxious to see what 
she would do or say : so he affected to be 
asleep. She approached him nearer and 
nearer, and at length stooped over him and 
the large tears dropped on his face as 
she almost inaudiblv whispered — ** How 
beautiful, and yet now pate and troubled 
he looks: Oh I did he but know how I love 
him, he would at least, not believe me 
guilty of any attachment to Bently.'f 

Charles moved a little, and Kate imme- 
diately darted into the other room. He 
arose quite refreshed, and breakfast being 
ready, he took his seat beside his wife, widi 
a better appetite than he had known for 
some time. 

After breakfast he sought Bently, and 
at once demanded explanation and satis- 
foction for his conduct towards his wife. 

** I have in no way injured you, Mr. Mc- 
Clure," said Bently, warmly. '< The fact 
that I love your wife, is known to many, 
and I frankly own that it is true ; I feel 
for her what I never felt for .any other 
woman, and being informed by Adaline of 
the manner of your marriage, and that 
Kate was not loved by you, gave me to 
feel that there was hope for me ; but I 
was refused, and I pleaded my love in 
vain. Adaline Gray tried to secure me 
your wife by stratagem, but I could not 
force one that was beloved by me ; she has 
forgiven mej and I have become a better 
man. The lady you saw was no other than 
Adaline Gray; we met by appointment; 
in fact, she has disclosed to me her real 
character. Since she knew that she could 
not deceive me, I told her plainly that I 
would not marry her ; and she knows also 
that I will not expose her. She is going 
to be married in a fow days to a rich mer- 
ohant of Philadelphia ; and furtherm o re, 
my friend, I think yon have reason to 
thank your lucky stars that you redeemed 
that handkerchief, for it was a better bar- 

rhin than the one you contracted for: and 
heartily wish yon much joy. As I can 
not obtain the prise, give me back my 
pledge, that precioos handkerchief." 

""No, Bently," said Charles, <' I have the 
best right to it; hot I will give you a pledge 
better befitting yon : here is my hand, and 
I assure you, that you will ev^ be a wel- 
eooM guest at ear house, so good by, for 
the present." 

Charles retamed home, anf found tfai4 



Kate was already in the drawing-room 
awaiting his return, to hear what he had 
to say. He thought he never saw a being 
so lovely in his life. Seating himself by 
her side, he addressed her thus : 

" Kate, are you willing to be my wife, 
my bosom wife? Can you forgive me for 
my indifference to you during these long 
months of affliction? Believe me, my 
dear wife, that none is more fondlv lovea 
than you are; and I truly feel that t never 
knew what it was to love before-" 

'* Can it be possible that you love me, 
Charles ? Then yon make me the happiest 
of women. The prayers of your mother 
indeed are answered.'' 

He pressed her long and fervently to his 

bosom. Their lips met for the first time, 

and Charles felt it the happiest moment of 

his life. 

« » * * * 

A few months, and we see in a rich par- 
lor at the old mansion. Charles is sitting 
with a young and beautiful lady ; they look 
upon each other with the fondest affection. 
" I hope, my dear wife, that your sister 
will come soon, as your anxiety seems to 
pale your cheeks ; how glad I shall be to 
see her.'« 

" It has been long since I saw my dear 
sister, and just at this time it will be dou- 
bly pleasant ; don't you think so, my dear 
Charles ? " 

^ Tes : but there is some one ringing ; 
go, Binan, and see who is there." 

'* Bless me, missus, it is Mr. Bently and 
a young lady." 
" Show them up here, Binah." 
Mr. Bently hastened to ascend and pre- 
pare Mrs. McClure for the pleasant news 
of her sister's arrival. 

** Where have you been, Bently, these 
three months?" 

*' To California, to rid myself of loving 
Mrs. McClnre ; and I found that I could 
love your sister a great deal better. So 
you see that she was better hearted to- 
wards me than yourself, and has become 
my wife." 

This was pleasant news indeed and a 
happy meeting. BenUy soon had a little 
name-sake — as they called their first-bom 
Bently McClure — a beautiful child. 

The old mansion was again the site of 
pleasure ; as happiness filled the hearts of 
its inmates to overflowing. There was 
one little inmate there that Elate felt 
all the love of a mother for; it was the 
cast-off child of Adaline. She was a 
beautiful little girl, and Kate never let 
lier know that she was not her own child. ' 

Charles oflen with pride, related the stoir 
of redeeming the handkerchief; and it 
was kept as a sacred relic. 

Jack was ever a favorite at the mansion 
for the interest he manifested towards its 
inmates. Old Dinah lived to nurse several 
of her young master's children : she was 
loved and treated more like a mother than 
a servant. 

Adaline was leading a fashionable life, 
as Mrs. Williams : dissipation and intri^e 
marked her course. She knew that ELSte 
had returned good for evil, and had taken 
the child that she had cast off, to hide 
from the world, her shame ; and now she 
dare not own it. She still lived a lie to 
herself and others. 

When years had passed and the children 
of McClure and Bently and Milford had 

S'own up to know and revere each other, 
e old people would oflen collect in the 
mansion and talk over their early trials 
and early friendships, and discuss the fu- 
ture prospects and bright hopes of their 
happy-hearted children. 


KO. II. 

LUac Cottage, July 13M. 

Dear Joe^ — Knowing, among your 
peculiarities, your liking for long let- 
ters, I have resolved to commence a 
whole week before hand and write a 
page each day of snch trifling things 
as I can find, in order to gratify your 
taste for lengthy epistles. 

I described in my last letter the sen- 
sation I felt as I approached my long 
wandered-from home, and saw the fa- 
miliar line which marked the boundaiy 
of the sky, stretch out before me — and 
hills and* dales that had been trodden 
so oft by my boyish feet, disclose them- 
selves to view ; and at last, when I had 
gained the little hill that overlooked 
the vale of my birth, and saw Lilac 
Cottage lie before me, the same beauti- 
ful sunny place that I had known it 
during all my childhood, how I pressed 
my heart to quiet its wild beating. The 
meetiogi the welcoming, the renewal 



of the ikmil J circle, were all described 
in mj hastily written letter. 

It was another strange sensation when 
I began to meet again my old compan- 
ions and acqoaintanoeSy to mark the 
change which time had wronght npon 
them. Those who had ever dwelt in 
mj mind as the «ame boys and ^rls, 
who had been my companions in yonth- 
fol years, were changed to sober men 
and staid maidens ; while their places 
were occupied by those whom I had 
only known as playful children. 

Bat I hare yet a queerer sensation 
than all to describe to you. Yes, Joe, 
I tell you in the frankness of our mu- 
tual confidence, that I'm in love ! 
Yoa'U laugh, I know^ when you read 
that — I can hardly keep from laughing 
myself as I write it, but my mirthful 
propensities are borne down by a feel- 
ing of commisseration for the auda- 
ciousness of you miners, who, secure 
in distance from bewitching eyes and 
voices that act like an enchanting pow- 
er, dare, in the beastliness of your 
hearts, to call yourselves the '' invinci- 
bles/' as arranged against Cupid's 
might. Be assured, that if you ever 
come again into civilization and have 
these subjugating influences brought to 
bear upon you, you will exclaim like 
me, " how are the mighty fallen, and 
the weapons of war perished ! " 

The simple truth is, that among my 
old companions was Nettie Allen, whose 
parents were the nearest neighbors of 
the Cottage. Nettie's sparkling eye 
and graceful form had half won my 
boyiali heart of old, but my absence 
at school and in California had effaced 
the youthful impression, and even 
Nettie herself had begun to be mingled 
in the indistinctness which surrounded 
all the objects of my early home. 
When I saw her again, on my return, 
the magic hand of time had changed 
the &ir girl to the beautiful woman. 
The same vivacity and joyousness that 
had charmed my boyhood, still remain- 
ed ; but they were subdued by a maid- 
enly grace and thoughtfulness, which, 
whUe eertaittly they added materially 

to her charms, seemed half assumed 
and coquetish, and from the hour I 
saw these I date the '' decline and 
fall " of my sole sway over my own 

Tuesday J the HtJi, 

It was a beautiful morning, and with 
a kind of restlessness which I believe 
is characteristic of returned Califor- 
nians, I could not possibly sit cooped 
up in the house, and so I took my 
fowling-piece and strolled out over the 
fields in search of same. But by some 
strange chance, I round myself, as not 
un&equently I do, in the vicinity of 
Doctor Allen's mansion, and sauntered 
up the lawn with all the familiarity of 
a neighbor. The Doctor was sitting on 
the porch enjoying himself in the cool 
morning air with a book; he welcomed 
me warmly, and we were soon engaged 
in a very interesting conversation. 
Miss Allen shortly after joined us, look- 
ing as ever, remarkably beautiful, and 
took a lively part in the conversation. 
I might enter into unbounded eulogies 
of the sweetness of her voice and the 
refined thought and feeling she evinced 
in all her observations, but I will sim- 
ply say she expressed her opinion on 
every subject with uncommon good 
sense and taste. 

The Doctor's professional business 
called him away, and with a kind wish 
that I might find my visit interesting, 
h6 left us to ourselves. 

But strange to say, the situation, 
which you would think of all others I 
would deem most desirable — conversing 
with Miss Allen alone — ^soon became 

Young persons when left to their 
own inclinations, are so prone to talk 
on abstract subjects — and the most ab- 
stracted of all subjects are the passions 
and sentiments, and conseauently they 
generally form the theme of discussion ;, 
and on this occasion, the conversation 
had such a manifest tendency to turn 
to one particular passion, that we both, 
as it were by tacit agreement, stam- 
mered and hesitated when we should 
have been most fluent. I know not in 



what scene of confusion it might have 
ended, had not Miss Allen relieved as 
from the embarrassing topic by taking 
me to the conservatory to see her plants. 

She entered into a long and eloquent 
discussion of the comparative beauty of 
roses, geraniums, foschias, and more 
other hard names than I could ever 
remember, displaying, I should judge, 
a very extensive knowledge of her sub- 
ject, and certainly treating it with much 
taste and originality. Of course, I 
expressed myself passionately fond of 
flowers, and especially of the rose, not 
more for its matchless beauty, than its 
emblematical significance, — and suiting 
the action to the word, I selected, 
thoughtlessly as it might seem, a beau- 
tiful budding one, and begged her to 
accept it, as my fevorite. She took it 
and twirled it with such provoking in- 
nocence afi she continued her remarks, 
that I should have doubted her com- 
prehending my meaning, but for the 
rich color that suffused her face, as she 
received it from my hand. 

But although I seemed to listen with 
the most profound attention, and did 
listen with the most profound pleasure, 
I afisure you I did not heed one half 
that she said. I heard the musical 
tones of her voice, and saw the beauti- 
ful, ever-varying expression that played 
over her intelligent features — ^that was 

Flowers are very pretty, in their 
place, and find but few more enthusias- 
tic admirers than myself; but their 
hues appear sombre when placed in 
contrast to a flower of such surpassing 
loveliness. Stars are charmingly bright 
when seen alone, but they fade into in- 
significance when the Queen of Night 
comes forth in all her beauty — as Cap- 
tain Bunsby says, ''The bearing of 
this observation lays in the application 
on it." 

Wednesday, the l&th. 

There is an unusual sense of sadness 
on me as I sit down to write ; — a feel- 
ing that with all my happiness, there is 
a void somewhere — a desire for some- 
thing I know not how to gratify — a 

restlessness, — a wbh to be somewhere, 
— anywhere, the vain longing for which 
fills my breast with a vague pain, al- 
most like the agony of suspense. 

I sat at my window and watched the 
sun go down in all his gorgeous beauty, 
— ^he never looks so glonous as when 
he sets, — and I thought as I followed 
in fancy, his course to the far west, 
that he reserved all his splendor for 
your own favored California. And 
when he had set, and the rich hues 
were fading from the twilight sky, my 
heart wandered away, where it wanders 
so often — to the old cabin, there, among 
the mountains. 

I thought I came up the trail to the 
cabin, my heart beating high with sup- 
pressed emotion, and met your greeting, 
frank and hearty as ever ; the meeting 
was such as is only seen when true 
friends meet; and yet when our de- 
light should have leaped so high, it 
was subdued and saddened by the 
thought we both felt, though we ex- 
pressed it not, of one to whom we had 
given our last greeting, and who would 
have shared this with so much pleas- 
ure. And then, as some sound recalled 
my reverie, I heard a deep sigh, snch 
as a dreamer mi^ht breathe when awak- 
ened from some beautiful vision. Ah I 
Joe, there is some charm about the 
freedom of that miner's life — ^the pleas- 
ure of association, without its restrain- 
ing conventionalities, that is never 
found elsewhere ; — and often, very oi^ 
en, my mind turns from all that sur- 
rounds me, to keep you company in 
your lonely home, and I'll not do you 
the injustice to think, although you 
have not to regret your absence from 
scenes endeared by beloved associations, 
that you never turn to dwell in your 
thoughts upon one who will ever re- 
member you as the best of friends and 

Friday J the Vlth. 

We had a gentle Bhower this eve, 
Bat that's not all I'm going to say ; 

At last, the lowering heavens cleared ; 
And when the storm bad passed away» 

A few last sprinkles lingering yet, 
Like drying tears in l^aufy's eye. 


' 181 

Tb€ fan shot in a brilliant ray — 

A rainbow sprang across the sky : 
Bat lW< not all I'm going to say. 

And as I gazed npon the arch, 

That spanned the darkened eastern sky, 
I thought upon the child's belief 

Of treasures that beneath it lie ; 
And said» ** There's not on earth a place 

Where I had rather see it rest, 
Than where, like harbinger of peace. 

It hovers o'er yon Tale most blest, 
Where dwells a gem this heart esteems 
Far BBore than all that Childhood dreams." 

And then a spirit in my feet 

Led me away nnto her bower, 
Where, 'mid the mass of drooping bloom 

She stood the fairest flower, — 
Her breast with gentle sadness filled, 
And longings which the hour instilled. 

We gaxed in silence on the scene : — 
The passing storm, the glorious bow, 

The sun so brilliant e'er he set, [low — 

The flowers that drooped with moisture 

And then our gaze a moment met. 

And XVke the flowers, drooped lower yet. 

My tongue grew eloquent, — I spoke 
Words which our feelings heeded not : 

^ Dearest, thy gentle smile can make 
The humblest fate the happiest lot : — 

This sun — this storm— this changeftil scene, 
Are emblems of a checlcered life. 
Which but a word of time makes rife 

With endless jots and peace serene ; — 
Ob ! let yon bow which bends aboye, 
The token of a pledge divine, 
Henceforward be a deeper sign, — 
The witness of our plighted love ! " 

She spoke not, but a gentle sigh 

Disturbed and heaved her bosom fkir ; 
And then a tear stole in her eye 

And glistened like a diamond there ; 
Then, like the storm now far away, 
' Twas followed by a smiling ray, 
And deep within that liquid sky, 

A ndnlMW seemed to play : 
And if tile tongue may dare attempt 

To speak the thoughts our features prove, 
The words had been, ^ Behold these signs. 

The tokens of my endless love." 


KO. I. 

nnBOVucnoH — ^pRooBsn or povniT. 

It is said that the lady of a certain black- 
ing maker, to convince one of her female 
friends to whom she was explaining the 
magnitude of her husband's establishment, 
AS a dinuaz to her argument, and to put 
the truth of her assertion beyond a doubt, 
anaqnnced as incontestible proof — '*we 

keeps a poet. " If we may judge from the 
number of aspirants to poetical fame at 
the present time, when every family is not 
only supposed to be able to manufacture 
enough tor its own use, but also to supply 
the poet's corner of half the news-papers 
of tne State, if the authors' fame extend 
as far, we may have our doubts whether it 
was ^roof at all. The bojs and girls of 
the present age seem bent on poetry. It 
makes the petty scribblers be looked upon 
as little prodigies ; whilst they and their 
friends feel perfectly independent of the 
bulky productions of other times and pla- 
ces ; as they can furnish '' orient pearls " 
with half the trouble it takes to collect the 
diseased concretions of dirty muscles 
from the muddy creeks of New Jersey, and 
string them with neatness and precision, 
fbr public or for private exhibition, with a 
facility which the most fastidious critic 
ought not to have the cruelty to find fault 

But it is not for the purpose of tearing 
from these helpless innocents the thin cov- 
ering with which the deformity of their 
limbs and pithless sinews is enveloped, 
that I introduce them on the present oc- 
casion. God help them, let them scribble 
on. Bavins ana Mievius had their ad- 
mirers of old, why should not they have 
theirs now ? But before those little lumin- 
aries, those farthin? rushlights of the liter- 
ary world, in their kindness and courtesy, 
thought fit to shine forth in such profusion, 
if not of brilliancy at least of numbers, for 
the purpose of enlightening our '' Cimme- 
rian desert," 

" Lest total darkness should by night regain 
Her old dominion," 

by all accounts there were several {X)et8 
who attained some eminence in their time, 
and whose names are not yet forgotten. 
My object is to hunt up those genUemen 
who made themselves so conspicuous, and 
ascertain, if possible, why it should hap- 
pen that some people will insist that their 
poetical productions are entitled to more 
credit than those of our every-day writers ; 
which, as they embrace those great prere- 
quisetes by|which the good aunt of Waverly 
adjudged poetry in general, and more 
particularly the youthful effusions of the 
neir of Waverly-Uonor — a capital letter 
at the commencement of every line, and 
the lines ending in rhymes — ought appa- 
rently to be just as good poetry as theirs ; 
and if such is not poetry what is ? To 
answer this question I am not going to 
quote either Johnson or Webster, (all honor 
to those gifted authors ;) let the reader 



take my own definntion, short and sweet — 
'^ words suitable for singing." 

On the ground that poetry means words 
suitable for singing, it must have been co- 
equal with the human race. One can 
scarcely suppose the nightingalci 

" In her sweetest, saddest plight. 
Smoothing the rugged brow of Night/' 

and the nodding mockiu^-bird not yet 
asleep, aroused by her earliest mates, at- 
tempting in vain to imitate her, without 
believing that Eve in her innocence would 
also try whether she could not imitate her 
better, and after having practiced the art 
of singing for some time in gamut form for 
a primary lesson, as she got a little more 
perfect, aspiring next to have words for her 
music, and weaving some rudely-construct- 
ed ditty in praise of Adam's manly beauty, 
or telling what she thought of her own 
softer features as she saw them mirrored 
in the fountain. But m v purpose is not to 
write a romance based on probabilities. 
Let us inquire into the history of Poetry 
afber its wings were fully fledged, its claims 
recognized, and the uses to which it might 
be put well known to those who were adepts 
in the art. Let us pass over what it may 
have been among the Egyptians and Phoe- 
nicianSy. and what it was among the He- 
brews. Their Poetry has had nttle influ- 
ence over the English Muse. Poetry comes 
to us as it came to the Romans, from 
Greece ; where the Muses held their court 
on Parnassus, and the poets, who were 
equally their priests and those of Nature, 
first learned or reintroduced the harmonies 
of Nature, adapted and ^^ married to im- 
mortal verse " which remains to this day. 

Let not the philosophical reader imagine 
that Poetry is an idle art unattended with 
great results. When the poet attempts to 
weave into verse the deeds of some great 
man, or the praises of some youthful Hebe, 
"the cynosure of neighboring eyes,'' to 
make the picture true to nature, or rather 
to make nature excel herself, he has to 
address the passions and feelings skilfully, 
so as to impress his hearers in the most 
successful manner. None of the ancients 
were so perfect in this respect as the 
Greeks, or at half so much pains in culti- 
vating the art. The choice of words for 
their sound, and the adaptation of meas- 
ures smtable for different subjects, as well 
as the studied succession of long and short 
syllables, were by them carried to perfec- 
tion. But in every nation where Poetry is 
understood, and written with elegance, the 
greatest care is taken to select only such 
words, as having a proper intonation and 

length, may also convey the idea intended 
with the greatest impression. From this 
cause, a language at first uncouth and 
harsh gradually becomes harmonious, those 
words which are discordant and not gen- 
erally admissible in poetical compositions 
being dropped, and exactly in proportion 
as poetry and rhetorical compositions are 
cherished. Among the Greeks poetry ex- 
ercised a much greater influence. The 
heroes of whom the poets sung, through 
the magnifying power of their omnipotent 
art, became the future gods of the country. 
B(it the aid of the muse was donated to 
the country's service. Mankind then was 
young — the arts in their infancy. Who- 
ever became conspicuous among them as 
a great improver or inventor was deified 
b^ the poets. The village blacksmith, on 
his becoming, when necessity required it, 
an armorer, also became a god. The 
man who, first abandoning the pastoral 
life, set to cultivating his fields and teach- 
ing his countrymen the practice of agri- 
culture, was raised by the poets to be chief 
of all the gods ; and his brother, who prob- 
ably extended his original calling of a 
fisherman to transporting the productions 
of one little island to another within sight 
of it, and for such purpose constructed 
vessels of a superior sort to those generally 
used in catching fish, became the god of 
the seas. Thus, the poets held out to the 
deserving, not only an immortality of fame 
on earth, but of power in heaven. Ma- 
hommed lays it aown as a proof of the 
divine origin of the Alkoran, that the lan- 
guage in which it is written is beyond the 
reach of human art. The enthusiastic 
Greeks, whether their poets told them so 
of their effusions or not, seem to have 
yielded to such an impression. Their 
songs were irresistible ; their romance was 
admitted as reality ; and these very men 
with whom their own grandfathers bad 
been on terms of intimacy, within a cen- 
tury after their deaths, by common consent 
were regularly installed as gods. 

Once admitted to the rank of Gods, ev- 
ery little incident in their former lives be- 
came of new importance, and was woven 
into new stories ; in which, through a sim- 
ilar magnifying and mollifying process, 
(though many of their deeds have nothing 
to recommend them, and only admit of 
palliation on the ground that those who 
aid them were only in a semi-barbarous 
condition) they were so altered and beau- 
tified as to be in harmony, as the poets 
thought, with their new character. 

Thus Poetry among the Greeks implied 



two principal objects, which they triumph- 
ADtlj achicTed. It taught the art of con* 
ttraetiag from scanty materials, and the 
oecvrreooes of eyery-oay life, a highly-fin- 
ished story ; and also, with the minutest 
nicetj of perfection, the different kinds of 
rersincation requisite for the purpose of 
exciting the passions, so as to enchain 
them at the poet's will; embracing the art 
of raiting and shaping his sentences har- 
Boaionaly by the selection of proper words, 
— bj which means the language was ne- 
eesaarily improved, not only for the pur- 
poees of Poetry, but also for prose compo- 
iiticm and common couTersation ; as well 
as the manners of the people refined, and 
their ideas exalted by the story itself. 

The Romans never used Poetry for the 
purpose of peopling heaven with new 
oivintties. Tnoee of Greece they stere- 
otyped in their catalogue, as they found 
them. They were content with modeling 
their Poetry also after the Greeks, whom 
they lookea upon as masters of the art 
But they were a wittier people. They had 
a keener sense of the ridicnloas. Hence 
we find in Horace and others a refinement 
of composition courting more the alliance 
of wit than of lofty conception. With 
them satire became conspicuous, in which 
the power of Poetry, instead of magnifying 
and beautifying an object beyond its nat- 
ural aspect, was used for the purpose of 
distorting it into so ^otesque a shape as 
to make it appear ridiculous. Such an 
addition to Poetry was a great acquisition, 
and rendered it mr more acceptable to re- 
fined society, who invariably discover a 
greater propensity and pleasure in check- 
tag little pomposities on the part of their 
friends by well-timed repartee, than in the 
vulgar practice of playing " high jinks '' 
for the sake of their dignity. 

On the down&U of the Roman power, 
Poetry for some time onl^r existea in a 
fossil state ; and for centunes nothing de- 
serving of the name of Poetry remains, if 
such compositions were at all indulged in. 
Bat OQ the establishment of the monkish 
system, at least after it had taken root, the 
BOfiksy who had an almost exclusive mo» 
nopoly of the learning of Christendom, and 
iHio had not mnch to do, were at pains to 
seek ont copies of the classics, especially 
of tihe Latin Poets^ with whom no doubt 
they nHiUed away many a weary hour. 
They were minor poets themselves, and 
added a new grace to Poetry with which 
till then she had not been adorned. They 
invented rhyme, or the practice of making 
the ends of lines harmonize in sonnd| of 

which that well-known hymn commencing 
** Dies irae, dies ilia " is a notable example. 
This new acquisition to the art was not 
long in being used for a different purpose 
than that of religion. The middle ages 
were roused in their tenebral c^uietude by 
the rantings of a half-crazy priest known 
as Peter uie Hermit, whom a heated im- 
agination prompted to advocate through 
Continental Europe the disgrace of chns- 
tian monarchs remaining supinely at their 
ease, or engaging in indecorous quarrels 
with each oUier,' while circumcised pagans 
held possession of the Holy Sepulchre of 
Jesus Christ, and all those interesting 

S laces on which his sacred feet had trod- 
en. His doctrine took. Its influence, in 
the words of the old ballad, was ** like a 
fire to heather set" Far and wide it pre- 
vailed among all classes ; and contribu- 
tions of men and money were raised to 
furnish armies for such a holy purpose. 
As Poetry is coeval with the human race, 
so also is its spirit immortal. It may, re- 
main in a state of torpor for a time, but it 
only wants such events as strongly effect 
the feelings to revive it. It was not, how- 
ever, by the instrumentalitv of Poetrjr that 
this warlike enthusiasm had been pro- 
duced, so it was only in detailing their he- 
roic deeds, and the constancy of their wives 
find sweethearts during their absence, that 
it shone forth on this occasion. The trou- 
badours and trouveres of France were fore- 
most in this new era of Poetry ; to which 
the additional charm of rhyme added new 
beauty, especially for those soft and seren- 
ading ditties which were in greatest favor. 
They effected in the foelings of the im- 
proving age a perfect revolution, so great 
was the influence of their songs and music, 
particularly on the excitable temperament 
of the French, and the chivalrous Span- 
iards. Now was the age of chivalry, and 
it was by such means that it was pro- 

The Epic was the grand achievement of 
Grecian Muse, being a highly wrought his* 
torical romance wherein, as I have men- 
tioned, the gods were introduced as freely 
as the other performers — a license which 
Horace wittily proposed to his countrymen 
to curtail. It was a perfect poem, in metri- ' 
cal construction — poetry much resembling 
English blank verse; and thus the compo- 
sition of an epic poem involved two prin- 
cipal objects, a highlv-fancied story, and 
poetical skill partly of a mechanical char- 
acter. But the Crusaders in their wars in 
the East had met with a literature of a 
different kind. The oriental epics or ro- 



manoers were still more wonderful, and 
had a snpemataral machinery much more 
intricate and ezcitinff, and though less 
Bublime than the productions of the Gre- 
cian Musoy showed a no less inventive if a 
wilder genius ; but they were in prose. 

Their influence, joined to the chivalroiis 
feelings of the age, eventually overpowered 
the reviving literature of Europe, and for 
a time supplanted Poetry—at least literv 
ture was turned almost entirely into an- 
other channel. 

CDxsus? G&3(s><s&sill CSDaoi&QE^o 

California is a wonderful oountiy — says 
the American Phrenological Journal — every 
arrival of the steamer conveys us a new 
edition of its multitudinous nuirvels. To 
say nothing of its golden plains, its quartz 
mountains, and its silver creeks, it boasts of 
the largest trees, the biggest fhiit, and last 
but not least, the most remarkable dogs. The 
following article, which we take from the 
Caltfomia Magazine, gives an account of a 
native Nevaoian whose rare genius places 
him high in the list of noUe doge* Our read- 
ers, will not only be amused but instruct- 
ed by reading his biography ; and whether 
they do or do not come to the conclusion that 
dogs have souls, they will certainly agree 
that " Jeny '' has a heart to to be admired, 
and a head which many a biped of the genue 
homo might reasonably envy. 

Then follows the portrait and biography 
of our canine friend " Jerry ^' given to ou| 
readers^in page 486, in the I. YoL of the Gal 
ifornia Magazine. We have given the above 
for two reasons: reason number one is to 
let our friends see that the good folks "East " 
think enough of our articles not only to 
copy them, but expressly to make new en- 
gravings to accompany them — and reason 
number two being to say that California not 
only has all the great and good things for 
which the American Phrenological Journal 
gives her credit, but to assure them that the 
inventive skill of our people is fully equal, 
if not superior, to the for fiuned land of 
wooden nutmegs; which Is saying much. 
Lest the contributors to the interesting In- 
dustrial Exhibition of the Mechanic's Insti- 
tute might begin to think that we alluded to 
* some of their handiwork, and thereby do our 
enterprising individual unintentional injus- 
tice, we shall at once introduce the sulject 
by saying that any one acquainted with the 
Shaita Courier is tolerably well aware that 
the '' editor-man '' will, if he cannot find 
" snthin '' funny for his readers, be sure to 
invent ^* sathin. '' This time, however, a cor- 

respondent relieves him of the task by send- 
ing the following account of 

Hating. — ^We have quite an enterprisiiig 
farmer up this way. He has discovered a 
new way of gathering hay, which is much 
cheaper than the old ^ay ; besides, he gets a 
much greater quantity oif the same amount 
of ground. He sowed a piece of ground 
with oats, intending to cut it for hay. The 
ground was so dry that it did not grow more 
than ten or fifteen inches high, and would 
not pav for cutting. It occurred to him that 
he could get the Indians to pull it ; so he 
went to see ' Captain ' Ned, who took the 
contract for a quarter of beef and a half 
dozen sacks of flour. The Indians — about 
80 — went to work the next morning — old 
gra^ heads, squaws, little onea and all — 
takmg a swath some sixty yards wide across 
the field. In two days they finished the job, 
and by this means my fHend has put some 
eight tons of good hay in his bun. The 
ground was very dry when the hay was 
pulled, and the dirt was therefore all easily 
knocked off the roots. A horse will eat the 
roots in preference to the top. The fiirmers 
elsewhere will profit by this. 

Who could have thought that the quiet lit- 
tle man who presides over the editorial 
colnms of the San Jose Tribue, would have 
been guilty of circulating the report, and 
taking pleasure therein, however true, of 
the division and back-sliding of any church ; 
and yet he has had the unchristian ! reck- 
lessness' of printing and publishing the fol- 
lowing ! — 

Splft in thb Mbthodist Church. — ^There 
has been a very serious divirfon in the Meth- 
odist Church North in San Jose : about one 
half of the church having seeedea. We pe^ 
CMve, however, that there is a prospect of a 
speedy healing of the breach. The separsr 
tion was owing to a number of carpenters, 
who sawed the house in two from top to bot- 
tom, and caused the latter end to back-slide 
about fifteen feet. 

We hope that the christian denomination 
who worship there, may have grace sufScient 



gires them to forglre him — but we cannot 
— never 1 

This reminds ns of a carpenter, who, being 
at the point of death, was deured by his 
friends to receive the counsel and prayers 
of a christian minister ; to which he con- 
sented. When the minister arrived at his 
bed-side he took the sick man by the hand 
■a he made the inquiry — 

^ My friend, you are very sick ; yon mnst 
soon cross the dark valley ; now, how do 
you feel at the prospect V^ 

" Middling," was the reply. 

•• I>o yon forgive all ?" 

<* No ; I cannot say that I do," was the 

'' It is very wrong, and very sinlhl," con- 
tinued the good man, " for you to encourage 
such unholy feelings at such a solemn time ; 
jost before 

'' Well) I cannot help it, as they have been 
my enemies through a long and industrious 

^ But we are commanded to forgive, nay 
eves to <oM our enemies," suggested the 

** I can't do it ; no, never, never. " 

'* Have you any objection to naming the 
name and character of your enemies ?" 

*• None wliatever." 

^ Well, then, tell me all, and peradventure 
I may yet assist you to a better state of 

<* I don't Uke to do it, after all," persisted 
the sick man. 

** Oh I ^j not, my friend T it shall never 
escape my lips — not to 

** U yon promise me that, then I— I w — 
I will/' gasped the dying man. <'Tou 
know my trade ; I— I am a carpenter." 


1 have been a hard working man all my 


" Well, ifaortly after I was apprenticed I 
required to keep my tools in order. I 
tried to do so ; but, on one particular day — 
the date I cannot exactly now remember — 
I had hot jnst filed my saw — a new saw, 
presented me by my uncle,— when I had 
cut about seven inches down the plank — it 
was, I remember^ an old plank— I — " hers 

the dying man made a panse, and gnashed 
his teeth as though in great mental agony. 
" I — ^I cannot go on." 

" Oh ! yes, proceed my friend," returned 
the good man, encouragingly. 

" Well, then, as I was saying, I had cut 
about seven Inches down the plank, when 
suddenly, and just after I had drawn the 
saw up through the plank nearly to the 
point, I gave one stroke down and — ^erath 
went the saw, and instead of the plank — / 
had Mwed a nail ! Now, I ask you as a man 
possessed of human feelings, if, under such 
circumstances, you would ever forgive such 
enemies ? Tour smile assures me that you 
would answer — n-e-v-e-rl" 

The following, from an exchange, we think 
worthy of a place in our Social Chair, 
although of little comparative utility in 
Oalifomia at present, but 

" Tbere'i a belter time coming, boys." 

Thi Law of the Fikoeb-Rino.— If a gen- 
tleman wants a wife, he wears a ring on the 
left hand ; if he is engaged, he wears it on 
the second finger ; if married, on the third ; 
and on the fourth if he never intends to get 
married. When a lady is not engaged, die 
wears a diamond ring on her first finger — if 
engaged, on the second ; if married, on the 
third ; and on the fourth, if she intends to 
be a maid. When a gentleman presents a 
fan, a flower, or trinket, to a lady with the 
left hand, this, on his part, is an overture 
of regard ; should she receive it with the 
left hand, it is considered as an acceptance 
of his esteem, but if with the right hand, it 
is a leftisal of the oifer. Thus, by a few 
simple tokens explained by rule, the pas^on 
of love is expressed." 


1 gave ber a row— and I gave her a riogj 

And I asked her to marry me tlien ; 
Bot she seal tliem all back— the iDsensible thing, 

And said she'd no aotioa ofaien. 
I told her IM oceans of money aod goods, 

And tried her to fright with a growl, 
But she aaswr'd she wasnH brou't op in the woods 

To be seared by the screeeh of an owl. 

I called her a bamige and every thing bac^ 

I slighted her features and form. 
Till at length I succeeded in getting her mad, 

And she raged like a sea in a storm ; 
And then in a moment I turned and i smiled, 

And called ber my aacel and all. 
And she fell in ray arms like a wearisome child, 

And exclaimed : ** we will marry next falU" 

As the ensuing lines are very old, they 
will now be comparatively new, (speaking 



paradoxically,) bat as they are to the point, 
and on an interesting point, they will not 
be pointless in — 


Thanks to thee my dearest friend— 
A kiss you in your letter send ; 
But, ah! the tnrilling charm is lost 
In kisses that arrive by post ; 
That fruit can only tasteful be, 
When gathered, melting, from the tree ! 

"Don't stay long husband ! " sud a yonng 
wife, tenderly, in my presence one evening, 
as her husband was preparing to go oat. 
The words themselves were insignificant, bat 
the look of melting fondness with which 
they were accompanied spoke volumes. It 
told all the whole vast depths of a woman's 
love — of her grief when the light of his 
smile, the source of all her joy, beamed not 
brightly apon her. 

*' Don't stay long, husband I " and I fan- 
cied I saw the loving, gentle wife sitting 
alone, anxiously counting the moments of 
her husband's absence, every few moments 
running to the door to see if he was in sight 
and finding that he was not, I thought I 
could hear her exclaiming, in disappointed 
tones, "Not yet." 

" Don't stay long, husband ! " and I again 
thought I could see the young wife rocking 
nervously in the great arm-chair, and weep- 
ing as though her heart would break, as her 
thoughtless " lord and master " prolonged 
his stay to a wearisome length of time. 

Oh I you that have wives to say, " Don't 
stay long ! " when you go forth, think of 
them kindly when you are mingling in the 
busy hive of life, and try, just a little, to 
make their homes and^hearts happy, for they 
are gems seldom replaced. You cannot find 
amidst the pleasures of the world the peace 
and joy that a quiet home blessed with sach 
a woman's presence will afford. 

"Don't stay long, husband!" and the 
^ouog wife's look seemed to say — for here 
myour own sweet home is a loving heart, 
whose' music is hudied when you are absent 
— here is a soft breast for you to lay your 
head npon, and here are pure lips unsoiled 
by sin, that will pay yon with kisses for 
coming back soon. 

And wife, young wife, if you would have 
your husband stay when he comes, and love 
to come when he must be away, give him 
those lips to kiss, and that breast to rest his 
weanr head npon. Because you are cold and 
indifferent to his caresses, and often wish that 
he would leave you, he turns away and seeks 
his pleasures in other scenes. Young wife, 
yon have him in your keeping. Keep him, 
and he will be kept. 

A medical gentleman defines winking to 
be '< an affection of the eye I " 



In the Minks, Sepi 3, 1857. 

Deab Sister Mat : Your Letter No. II. is 
before me ; it was a pleasure to reply to your 
former letter, but it is a greater pleasure to 
respond to this, for now, we are not entirely 
unknown to each other. We have exchanged 
the kindly greetings, and our sympathies 
have mingled together ; there is much that 
is congenial in our tastes and feelings, and 
it is a jo^ to let the fountains of the heart 
flow out in streams of tenderness, when we 
know that they will be appreciated, and 
that they will make flowers of beauty and 
fragrance bud and blossom in the garden of 
other hearts. 

I see that you have an eye for the beau- 
ties of Nature, and that the loveliness and 
magnificent g^randeur of the scenery which 
lies spread out before your pleasant home 
is not an unmeaning picture of material 
things — it is a picture of life and light 
which brings joy and beauty to your soul. 
Truly has the poet said, " A thing of beauty 
is a joy forever." 

You wl^ some of as were there to go to 
church with you ; it would be a happiness 
indeed for many a lonely miner, to have 
such a home to visit occasionally, and we 
should then love our adopted sister more 
tenderly, because her love and goodness 
would awaken memories of kind and loving 
sisters far away. You take it as a matter of 
course that we are all good, but I mast 
frankly confess that it is not so ; some of us 
are very bad, and none as good as we should 
be, and therefore we are grateful to you who 
have taken an interest in us and are trying 
to make us better. You say that we are 
pretty t too, perhaps; now, as the lawyers 
say, I take exceptions to the term ; it might 
be properly applied to some of your San 
Francisco exquisites — the thorough-bred dan- 
dies — they are pretty, and pretty good-for- 
nothing, too. I trust we miners are manlv 
in our appearance, and some of us good- 
looking, but I don't think we are pretty. 

And now for a few remarks about that 
alantendikilar look at the pretty young la- 
dies. I hope they are not pretty in the same 
sense the dandies are : I certainly will not 
be so ungallant as to tnink it. " Yonng la- 
dies in church," they do indeed^ set me to 
thinking ; I don't, myself, take a sUuitatdiki' . 
lor look at them, I gaze directly at them 
with the most ardent admiration ; I think of 
their maiden innocence and purity, and feel 
how lovely, how beautifnl and how sacred 
they are ; I think ot their kind and tender 
hearts, filled with all the Christian chari- 
ities and graces — of their immortal spirits 
loving the Savior and seeking after his pex^ 
fections, and asphring up onto tiieir Father 



aod their €rod, and then I imagine they are 
angeU of the earth, as indeed they are, and 
that heaven iteelf Is about them, a sacred 
heaven of purity, of holinen and of love. 

And now, dear Sister, I come to the part 
of your letter directed more especially to 
me : Tonr first letter did indeed accomplish 
its mission, not from calling forth these res- 
ponses, only, but by bringing Brother Joe 
back to these pages, to give us the pleasing 
imaginings of his mind and the tender feel- 
ings of his heart, portrayed in characters 
which, if they are nctitions. are as full of 
truth and realitT as any of those which sui^ 
round us in real life ; long may his '* Sun- 
shine and Shadows " rest unon these pages, 
either to brighten our path or give us a 
pensive repose in the shade. 

Ton say that your letter contained but 
the spontaneous outbursts of girlidi thought; 
and that, dear Sister, was why I liked it ; a 
letter should be the artless and natural ex- 
prewion of what we feel within ; the moment 
we begin to strain after effect, to say or 
write something beyond our capacity, or to 
indulge in what may be termed fine writing 
or grandiloquence, that moment a letter lo- 
ses Its charm ; better always is it to let the 
natural feelings of the heart and the sponta- 
neous ideas of the mind flow smoothly on 
tiiepagea in the simplest words of truth. 

What a beautifhl scene you have pictured 
in tbe passing away of that dear cousin from 
earth to heaven. When the icy arms of 
deatb enclose the forms we love, when the 
last sad rites are performed, when *' dust to 
dust and ashes to ashes" is pronounced, and 
the grave opens and the coffin is lowered, 
and the dull cold earth falls upon it with a 
sound whose vibrations reach the inmost re- 
eeases of our hearts, and when our eyes are 
filled with the tears of bitter anguish, oh ! 
bow blessed it is if we can then with the eye 
of faith look up to heaven and see our loved 
onea there, and feel that it is our father who 
gives his beloved the sleep of death. 

YoQ say that you would not only peep 
into mw cabin, but that you would enter, if 
I wimid Id you. Now. as you seem to have 
doubts on that point, I will add an invita- 
tion to the end of this letter which I trust 
wni dispel them all ; you also say that you 
sosaetimes imagine yourself a fairy ; now, I 
really believe you are one, for in your pro- 
posed visit you seem to know precisely what 
would give me most pleasure, and you cer- 
tainlv could not have ffuetaed all ; and first 
of alt those girls. I have already told you 
what I sometimes think of them, and will 
only add, in the words of a poet : — 

^ My very heart within me diet, 
la yeamiog for the girls.'' 

And then to hare the old cabin decorated 
with evergreens and flowers ^ oh, I am paa- 
ioaately fond of flowers ; their delicious fra- 

grance, their delicate forms^ their varied and 
beautiful colors, all combine with a sweet 
influence to reach the heart and tell us Gtod 
is love. 

And now as to that Tbffey — I think it 
would be altogether a work of supereroga- 
tion, a superfluity, a superabundance, too 
much of a good thing ; it would be like 
" piling Pelian upon Ossa," or *< gilding re- 
fined gold," or " painting the lily," or '^ add- 
ing a perfume to the violet ;" — I should be 
bathing in a fountain of honey, I should be 
overwhelmed in an ocean of saccharine syrup, 
I should die of an excess of sweetness ; surefy 
the sweet angels of earth and their sweet 
Idsses, (sisterly of course,) and sweet music 
and sweet flowers, and all the other sweet 
influences, would be quite and more than 
sufficient ; so when you come, pray don't 
mention that Ihfey. 

But I should like that game of blind- 
man's buff; nothing pleases me more than 
to play the child at times ; I like to get into 
a room with about a dozen children and join 
with a hearty spirit in their plays, and be as 
wild, uproarious and noisy as any of them ; 
it is good for us sometimes to become as 
little children, and it is always a delight to 
me to add to their pleasure and frin, and 
when I can't find small children I like to play 
with those of a larger growth ; and then, 
dear May, how I should like to hear the 
music of your voice, falling on my ear like 
echoes from the skies, in the melody of the 
songs you have mentioned, which are dear 
and hallowed by so many associations ; my 
heart then I know would seem to rise in my 
throat and the silent tears would fall, while 
my thoughts would be dwelling in sacred 
memories of the past. 

And now, sister May, while you seemed 
to know so well what would give me pleas- 
ure, you altogether miss the mark when you 
propose to annoy me. You might overset my 
chair — I have but one and that would be 
easily picked up — and if you overset the 
Srater bucket why there are plenty of cracks 
through the floor, and I dash the water on 
it every day to keep the cabin cool ; our 
porter-house steak dish happens to be a tin 
iMisin, so you could not break that ; tea or 
coffee I have not used for months, so you 
could not salt them ; as for ^ving me vin- 
egar for wine it is just the thing I drink ; a 
cup of water, well sweetened with sugar, and 
a little vinegar in it, is my wine ; and then 
the HavanasI why, I don't use the filthy 
weed in any shape : and as to sewing up mv 
pockets, why then I could not pocket the af- 
front, and uiat would simply be annoying 
yourself. When you intimated that I would 
stu*t off courtinjf Sundav morning, leaving 
you and the bright-eyed girls you are to 
bring, to amuse yourselves, I think yoa 
were trying to throw out an idea supremely 
ridiculous, one that would involve the 



lii^ht and length and breadth and depth of 
an absurdity in all possible directions, and 
I mast say, May, that you have sacceeded 
very well in the attempt Ton know that 
the chances to court in the mines are like 
angels' visits, and if I were courting ever so 
ardentlv, you well know I would refrain un- 
der such circumstances. 

You wish to know whether I would stay 
ftQgry long ; no, May, it is not in my heart 
to stay angij long with any body, and I 
don't think it would be possible for me to 
be angry with a sister so good as you seem 
to be. But this is a letter unreasonably 
long, and when I have added my invition to 
it, I am afraid it will tire your patience, and 
that of all who may read it 

BROTHER Frank's invitation to sister mat. 

Gome to my cabin so lonely, 
Come to my mountain home, 

One heart awaits thee only. 
Come my sweet sister, come. 

Come, for the time is fleeing. 

Swiftly forever away, 
Come, thou angelic being, 

Come, my sweet sister May. 

Come, with thy fun and laughter. 
And we most joyous will be, 

Come, and forever after 
I'll fondly think of thee. 

Come, with thy heart o'erladen 
With mirth and love and glee, 

Come and create an Aiden 
In my cabin home for me. 

Come, for alone I grow stupid, 
Come, with those bright-eyed girls. 

But before you come, let Cupid 
Hide slyly away in their curls 

Come, while the birds are singing, 

Sweetly on every tree, 
Come, with thy goodness bringing 

A heaven on earth to me. 

Come, and m;^ heart shall never 

Have a desire to rove. 
Come, and with thee forever, 

I'll live in a sister's love. 

Come to my cabin so lonely, 
Come to my mountain home, 

One heart awaits thee only, 
Come, my sweet sister, come* 

Sincerely and affectionately yours, 

Brother Frank. 

From PutnamU Monthly-^ a Magazine fully 
equal, if not superior to Harper's— and this 
month much more beautifully and exten- 
sively illustrated than the latter — we select 
the following expressive stanzas : — 


Take back your gold, and give me love— 

The earneit smile, 
The heart-voice that can conquer pain, 

And care beguile. 

Take back your silver, whence it came— 
It leads to strife $ 

A woman's nature feeds on love- 
Love is its life. 

Take back your silver and your gol<i^ 

Tbeir gain is loss ; 
But bring ne lov e for love is heaven— 

And they are dross. 

Old Block has written a* play — a Califor- 
nia play — time, 1850. One thing is self- 
evident, that if it is put upon the stage half 
as well as it is written, it will be the most 
successful minor drama that has yet bees 
introduced to a California audienca We 
are tempted to steal the following, with the 
hope that the author will not sue us for an 
<' invasion of copyright I" 

Enter Cash and Dice, l. 

Catlu How much did you pluck that 

Dice, A cool five thousand. 

Oath, Five thousand I jow. are in capital 
luck. How did you come it over the green- 
horn so nicely?. 

Ihc6, Wh^, the moment he came in I had 
my eye on him. I saw he was a green 'an, 
just from the mines, and therefore proper 
game. I carelessly began talking with him, 
and found out that he was on his way home ; 
told me a long yarn about his father and 
mother ; old man was crippled, and the old 
woman supported the family by washing, 
and all that nonsense ; and how he shonld 
surprise them when he got home, and that 
they ahould'nt work any more, and all that 
sort of thing ; let out that he had dug a 
pile by bard labor, and had the money in 
his belt. Well of course I rejoiced with hioif 
commended him as a dutiful son, and to 
show him my appreciation of so much vi^ 
tue, I insisted on his drinking with me. 

OuA. Ah I ha 1 ha I You're a perfect phU- 
anthropist — well : 

Dice. At first he rather backed water, 
but I would take no denial, and I finally 
succeeded in getting the first dose down 
him. A little while after, not to be mean, 
he offered to treat me. 

CbM. Of course you was dry. ^ 

Dies. Dnr as a contribution box. i 
winked at Tim, so he made Sluice Fork s 
smash good and strong, and somehow forgot 
to put any liquor in mine. 

Coik, What monstrous partiality! 

Dice. Directly he began to feel the sec- 
ond dose, and he grew friendly and con^ 
denUaL Well, I offered to show him sround 



among the girls, in the eyening, with all the 
sights in town, and at the same time can- 
tioned him against falling into bad hands, 
for he might be swindled or robbed by 
strangers • 

QuL Good fatherly adriser, ha I ha I ha 1 

iKfls. Yes, and he grew grateful fast, for 
be insisted on mj drinliing with him. 

CbaA. Ah t that hart your feelings. 

Dice, I told him I seldom drank any- 
thing^ ^ 

Cath, Only when yoa could get it, I 

Dke. As he would take no denial I — 
hem t — reluctantly consented, and nodded 
to Tim, who fayored his glass with mor- 
phine, and mine, particularly, with cold 

Caak. You're a practical illustration of a 
California temperance society. 

Din. It wasn't long before he was the 
richest man in California, and a d — -— d 
light the smartest Of course he was, so I 
invited him up to the table to see the boys 
play. He asked me if I ever played. I 
told him I seldom staked anything, but what 
I did I was sure to win, so I threw a dollar 
on the red. 

Oak. And won, of course. 

Dice. Of course. And then I proposed 
that be should try it. He demurred some, 
but I told him a dollar was nothing — ^if he 
lost I would share the loss — so he finally let 
a dollar slip on the red. 

CbdL And won, of course. 

IHet. To be sure ; our Jake knows what 
be*s about Sluice Box was absolutely sur- 
prised when two dollars were pushed back 
to him. He then doubled his stakes, and 
went on winning till he thought he had 
Fortune by the wings, when suddenly his 
luck changed, and he began to lose, and 
became excited. It was my treat now, and 
that settled the matter, for he swore he 
not leaye the table till he had won the 
money back. So he staked his pile, and we 
fleeced him out of every dime, and a hap- 

Sier man than Sluice Box is at this moment 
oes not exist 

ComIu How, at being robbed ? 

Dice, Not that exactly ; but, by the time 
h!s money was gone, he was so beastly drunk 
that Tim kicked him out of the round tent 
into the gutter, where he now lays fast 
asleep, getting ready for another trip to the 
Mines, instead of helping his mother wash 
at home, and plastering up his father's sore 

CaA, Ha! ha I hal the fools are not all 
dead. We'll go it while we're young.— 
[Sings.] " 0, Californy, that's the land for 

The moral is excellent — as every one 
might expect, who knows "Old Block." 
Success to the author and the play. So 
mote it be. 

Then again there is a very neatly printed 
and pleasantly named and well written little 
Odd Fellows' monthly called Thb Covbnamt, 
which we are hi^py to see has found its 
way to our table. We sincerely hope that 
it may long live to be the messenger of 
" friendship, love, and truth " to many 
hearts ; and, as it pours the healing balm 
of help and sympathy into the wounded 
spirit, we trust that its able and warm sup- 
porters may feel the reaction of its generous 
breathings, and, as expressed in its rare 
pages, prove that "A word of kindness is 
never spoken in vain. It is a seed which, 
even when dropped by chance, springs up a 
golden*petaled flower." 

The young fady who deliberately "cut 
an acquaintance" and was afterwards " filled 
with remorse," has, we are happy to say, 
been " bailed out" 

(f itttor s Ca6k 

PouncAX.* — It is a matter of some con- 
gratulation that the excitement in political 
aflhiis is for the time being ended, and we 
ate certainly glad of it The election over, 
there are duties for the citizen-patriot yet 
to perform, which incite his constant watch- 
luloeas, support, and sympathy. 

RxpfmuTiov^ — By a vote--an overwhelm- 
ing vote— of the people, the idea of "repu- 
dtstioB " baa been indignantly repudiated. 

A vast mi^of ify of ^^ people have written 
the fact for future history, that they have 
no sympathy with dishonesty, even though 
the money used which created the debt was 
but little better than stolen. Let not future 
legislators attempt to repeat the experi- 
ment. We hope they are honest, but it is 
barely possible that they will bear watching I 
Tbk Industrial Exhibition of 1857. — 
This exposition of the multitudinous kinds 



and variety of articles produced by the 
taste, skill, and industry of our young 
State, is alike creditable to the institution 
which brought it into being, and to the peo- 
ple who so cordially aud unanimously fos- 
tered and supported it. It is a gladdening 
triumph as a beginning ; and the question 
now arises, what is it to be in time to come ? 
The gratifying success of this experiment 
imposes additional responsibility upon the 
directory, suggestive of large and compre- 
hensive ideas of their duty and mission in 
the future. Self-reliance now for the devel- 
opment of our resources and the encour- 
agement of home manufactures, requires 
only a leader. Will the Mechanics' Insti- 
tute become that leader? We would sug- 
gest immediate preparation for an active 
and self-reliant future, and an onward 
course. No hesitancy, no delay. Let them 
take immediate steps to secure a suitable 
site for the erection of a permanent exhibi- 
tion hall, where at all times the genius of 
the young and enterprising may find sym- 
pathy and encouragement — and where, too, 
the curiosities and wonders of the State 
may form a permanent museum. A place 
of public resort of this character, for in- 
struction and amusement, where either citi- 
zen or stranger could spend a leisnre hour, 
would, at the same time, become a constant 
monitor to the visitor for the production of 
something useful or ornamental. Perhaps, 
too, there could be an advantageous union 
of the Academy of Natural Sciences with 

the Mechanics' Institute, for such pur- 

Thb State Aorioultdral Faib. — ^It sihould 
not be forgotten that for several years past 
the Committee of the State Agricultural 
Fair have been earnestly engaged in devel- 
oping the wonderful resources of the soil, 
and in encouraging every department of 
industry, — and at a time, too, when they 
stood almost alone in the enterprise. To 
their indefatigable exertions very much of 
California's present prosperity is attributa- 
ble. It is therefore our earnest hope that 
the great interest manifested in the Indus- 
trial Exhibition of San Francisco will in no 
wise detract from the progress and prosper- 
ity of the State Agricultural Fair now be- 
ing held in Stockton. 

j^ The Fibst Overland Mail. — ^From San 
Antonio, Texas, to San Diego, California, 
the first overland mail has arrived in thirty- 
four days, traveling time. This, no doubt, 
will be a very expensive way of finding out 
something concerning one of the suitable 
routes for the great Pacific Railroad ; but 
for encouraging and protecting immigra- 
tion and opening up settlements upon the 
great highway of travel, every one knows 
it to be utterly useless. It is true that the 
public wish to be better informed concern- 
ing the vast territory lying between the 
Gulf of Mexico, the Mississippi River, and 
our Pacific possessions ; but the question 
very naturally arises, Is this the most suita- 
ble method of obtaining it ? We think not 


T, E. — ^We never stoop to such ; but, did 
we do so, we can assure our correspondent 
that we are fully equal to the task of 
doing our own " fibbing "(I) Declined. 

A, — ^This month it was necessarily omitted, 
but will appear next. 

J9I, OnmUe, — Send 'em along. 

Dcmgn, — ^Your spirited reply to Eugenie Is 
unintentionally crowded out this month. 

L, L», C^eorgdown.'-lB received. We thank 
you— all kinds of information is at all 
times acceptable. 

K F^ T., PrfoZiima.— For heavens— no, for 
our — no, for the people's sake— don't send 
for any more legal gentlemen. In our 
opinion, nineteen at least from every 
twenty could now be spared, to an im- 
mense advantage to the State. If people 
would do right, and be satisfied with a 



jut knil oommoD-MDM decldon, a few 
Bdgfabore would umrer mnoh better tluui 
ft host of Uwjera. 
Aiutii B. — If 70D do " lore " our " spirited 
sod qtio; MagulDe," uid would like to 
oecDpjr a corner, please, as 7011 " love " 
it, to write with greater care ; and tbeQ 
we dtall be happj to find ;oa «ne. 
0. S.— Ura. Thomas O. Larkin was the flrat 

white lady who veDlured to California. 
/. V. B., FtMrrO-wifc.— We have a word to 
Bj to 70U ; and don't yon mention It to 
anjonet In fonr poatacript jou remark, 
"If you rqeot these line*, pray do not 
ent me np at yon do tome of yonr corres- 
poadenta." Now, Mr. J. V. H., we never 
attempt (Dch a thing u to "oat np" any- 
body, howerer poor their contrlbntiooB 
may be, premising that all things 
bave a beginning ; but, whenever any 
very important (I] personage takes 
erty of " putting on airs," we feel that a 
doable responsibilllj falls npon 
to tCMib him that do tme-hearted noble- 
Baa of nature ever "puts on tXr 
■ny one ; and, secondly, that whi 
takes the trouble to try how they will fit 
on UB, he certi^nly makes a mititake In 
" waking up the wrong passenger, 
that's all. 

JfcMtatiisg.— The American Lion is entirely 
a distinct snltnal from the American Ti- 
ger ; and iMth materially differ from their 
prototypes of the eastern continent. The 
American Jaguar, or " Tlgre " — Improp- 
erly ao called by the Mexicans and natives 
— Is much emaller than the African or 
AMatlc Tiger, thoagh its characteristics 
in other respecta are identical, and Is the 
■ost voracious and destructive animal in 
North America. The Fnma, or American 
Lioo {Fetit ditmlor) is much larger than 
tha Jaguar, but not as ferocious, and 
preya npon mnoh amaller anlmslB. 
r. &, AtWM.— Ba a man in all things, think 
ri^t, write rlgbt, and act right, and then 
" let her went" Keep sacredly yonr own 
seU^napect, and yon need not care a 
nonldy potato for the balance. We should 
treat them as McCarthy did bis cold— with 
"MVTin coaUmpt" 

A. T., Satmon FiUU.—Ve are persuaded that 
you have not done yourself or subject 
jnstice. Give ns some of those earnest 
gusbings of tbe soul, that will either make 
us laugh or weep, .and we don't care 
which. But ob I save us f^m any thing 
flat or Insipid. 

A Svbieriitr, Boaeh'a Bitl—TbuA joa. We 
Bbatl bear it In mind. 

BiCEivED— Several articles too late to be 
examined this month. 

3 last saw Hr. Flimpklne with his friend 
Mr. Simples on their way to tbe boat ; but 
they arrive just three minutes too late, tbe 
consequence of their call at the "Free Lunch 
Hr. Fiimpkins again resolves to cat tbe 

^l1aintance of all city institutions. 
[r. Simples takes it upon himself to show 
Mr. FUmpkins something more of the city. 
Hires a cab to take them to the Pavilion of 
the lodus trial Exhibition. 

Mr, FlimpkiDB prefers an outride seat, as 
he wiriies to see what is going on. Mr. Sim- 
ples prefers tbe inside ; but l>om the extra' 
ordinary speed mode, and an outside cry of 
"Stop her I stop her I" he, too, is desirous 
of seeing what is going on. 

Mr. Fhmpkios sees enough of what is 
going on, is perfectly sure he will go in, the 
next time he rides a cab. 

They reach the Pavilion ; but the Fair 
not yet opened, and tbey not being con- 
tributors, are not allowed admission; are 
told that In ten days arran^mcnts will tw 


nther thort oT fanda, mig^Bts the expedi- 
ency of qaarteTlog bimeelf apon ttie ho^i- 
Ulity of bit friend Mr. Simples. 

Mr. Simplee acqai^acee ; bat Is borrifled 
at the Idea, and determlDeB to cut bii tie- 
qokintence tbe flret -opportunity. Seizea a 
mvonble tuomeat, he thinks ; bnt Mr. 
FlimpkloB thinkt differeotiy. 

And thus they go it, Simp, and Flimp., 
throngh Uoatgomerj^ and up WadiiogtOD, 
Flimp. kolJing good biB distance behind, and 
Simp, about the Bame distance ahead ; bat 
Simp, becomes desperate ; desperate emer- 
gencies require like efforts, or remedies ; 
mnat shake bim off at all hazards; sees the 
cover off fVom a half-filled street reservoir ; 
mast Eet rid of him, so plunges In with the 
cry m Harder I Police! and rises head 
above water, just In time to bear Flimp. ar- 
rested — after an accidental iomeraet — and 

the Pavilion of the eAlbltlon ; gela In ; 
congratulates himself on havloK the " bni " 
all to himself ; thinks diCTereutlv before he 
reaches the Pavilion ; arrives all safe, and 
so do six other men, nine womea, eleven 
dlildren, ui poodle dogs, and abont the 
same number of market baskets. 

Goes in on a fifty-cent ticket, is a single 
man, never married, not he ; !s so well 
pleased with the exhiMtion that he resolves 
to stay a few days ; expresses a wUlIngness 
to purcliase a season ticket j hopes some gen- 
tleman will be bind enough to introdnee 
him to some lady; he is iatrodoced ; !Vom 
the appearance of the lady, he judges her to 
be nmi, and proves himself to Ik rather 
more tinn kku, on an Introduotioo. 

No one 
charged. , 

Has'nt been heard from ; beglua to fear the 
bole be went in at has some «Kin«ctioB with 
city tnetltntlone ; therefore will hear of 
Simp, being "dead and drowned," before 
he'll go near it to look after him. 

He now arranges with his landlord till he 
ag^n receives funds from hie friends in tbe 
country. The coin arrivea. all right, and 
Flimp. is now Ifr. Flimpkins again. He 
visits North Beach ; here he concludes to 
take an omnlbos ride— bia Dnl— at far as 

Hr. Fllmpkins Is horrified, and the ladlts 
terrified, at the accident be has oooaaionsd. 
^ikea advantage of the confoilon of the 
moment, eeo^wa unobeerved Ih>m tbe Pa- 
vilion and lusbea for tbe boat, which, how- 
ever, had left jnst one bour before ; rewlvei 
never to leave 
AtdocAtUl he 
does it on a 
steamboat ; is 
perfectly dls- 
MBted vrttti city 
life and InaUtn- 
them as possible, 
under the eir- ' 
cumstaucet, at- 
tirins to bis pres- 
ent elevatsd po- , 
wtion, where he - 

four hours, len - 
one,aadisH>fely : 
on board, aod ~ 
off for Sacr»- ' . , - 



Vol. n. XTO'TrXI2>CBS£l, 1SB7. No S. 






Oun is the are of gold, 

And onn the nallowed time.— itfe^n. 

To the lovers of history, nothing can be 
more welcome and valuable than the un- 
varnished narrative of events, from the ac- 
tors themselves: therefore, we feel the 
greater pleasure in presenting our read- 
ers with the following statements, with 
which we are favored : one from the good 
old pioneer, Gen. John August Sutter; 
and the other from Mr. James W. Mar- 
shalli the favored discoverer of the gold.— 
and who, nnitedly, are the fathers of The 
Age of Gold. 

It was in the first part of January, 1848, 
when the gold was discovered at Coloma,* 
where I was then building a saw-mill. 
The contractor and builder of this mill was 
James W. Marshall, from New Jersey. In 
the fall of 1847, after the mill seat had been 
located, I sent up to this place Mr. P. L. 
Wimmer with his family, and a number of 
laborers, from the disbanded Mormon Bat- 
talion ; and a little later I engaged Mr. 
Bennet from Oregon to assist Mr. Mar- 
shall in the mechanical labors of the mill. 
Mr. Wimmer had the team in charge, as- 
sisted by his young sons, to do the neces- 
sary teaming, and Mrs. Wimmer did the 
cooking for all hands. 

I was very much in need of a saw-mill, 
to get lumber to finish my large flouring 
mill, of four run of stones, at Brighton, 
which was commenced at the same time, 
and was rapidly progressing ; likewise for 
other buildings, fences, etc., for the small 
village of Yerba Buena, (now San Fran- 
cisco.) In the City Hotel, (the only one) at 
the dinner table this enterprise was un- 
kindly called ''another folly of Sutter's," 
as my first settlement at the old fort near 
Sacramento City was called by a good 
many, "a folly of his," and they were about 
right in that, because I had the best chances 
to get some of the finest locations, near 

* Th« Indian name and pronunciation is OaMn> 
Bah, (baautiAil vale,) now AmerloaniMd Ooloma. 

the settlements ; and even well stocked ran- 
cho's had been offered to me on the most 
reasonable conditions; but I refused all 
these good offers, and preferred to explore 
the wilderness, and select a territory on the 
banks of the Sacramento. It was a rainy 
afternoon when Mr. Marshall arrived at 
my office in the Fort, very wet I was some- 
what surprised to see him, as he was down 
a few days previous ; and when, I sent np 
te Goloma a number of teams with pro- 
visions, mill irons, etc., etc. He told me 
then that he had some important and inter- 
esting news which he wished to communi- 
cate secretly to me, and wished me to go 
with him to a place where we shoald not be 
disturbed, and where no listeners could 
come and hear what we had to say. I 
went with him to my private rooms ; he 
requested me to lock the door ; I complied, 
but I told him at the same time that no- 
body was in the house except the clerk, 
who was in his office in a different part of 
the house ; after requesting of me some- 
thing which he wanted, which my servants 
brought and then left the room, I forgot 
to lock the doors, and it happened that the 
door was opened by the clerk just at the 
moment when Marshall took a rag from his 
pocket, showing me the yellow metal : he 
had about two ounces of it ; but how quick 
Mr. M. put the yellow metal in his pocket 
again can hardly be described. The clerk 
came to see me on business, and excused 
himself for interrupting me, and as soon 
as he had left I was told, "now lock the 
doors ; didn't I tell you that we might have 
listeners ? " I told him that he need fear 
nothing about that, as it was not the habit 
of this gentleman ; but I could hardly con- 
vince him that he need not to be suspicions. 
Then Mr. M. began to show me this metal, 
which consisted of small pieces and speci- 
mens, some of them worth a few dollars ; 
he told me that he had expressed his opin- 
ion to the laborers at the mill, that this 
might be gold ; but some of them were 
laughing at him and called him a crazy 
man, and could not believe snch a thing. 


sotibb's von m 1648.. 

Afier hftring pnived the metml with bqna 
Ionia, which I foand in mj mpoCbacuj 
■hop, UkewiK with other ezperimeDts, aod 
rMd tb« long Article " gold" in the Encj- 
dopedik Americmiut, I declared this to be 
gold of the finest qiwli^, of at leMt 23 m^ 
•tk After thiiHr.ILhftdnomorerett nor 
pMJeaw, Mid wanted me to itart with him 
iwiMdifttelj for Coloma ; bat I told him I 
Mold not lenTe, H it wu l&le in the even- 
ing aad nearl; npper time, and that it 
wovid be better for him to remain with me 
tiD the next morning, and I would travel 
villi him, bnt thi* wonld not do : ha uked 
tM onlj "will jon come to-morrow moni- 
iagf" I toU him jta, and off he started 
br Coloma in the hearieat rain, althoagh 
■Ircttd; Tarj wet, taking nothing to oaL 
I took thia newa verj eaay, like all other 
cce nn e n cea good or bad, bnt thonght a 
pmt deal dwing the night about the con- 
■Hwnfr» which might follow mch a dia> 
tanrj. I gun all myne e iMa i? ordan to 

m; nnmennu laborer!, and left the next 
morning at 7 o'clock, accompanied hj an 
Indian aoldier, and vaqneio, in a heavy 
rwn, for Coloma. Aboot half wa/ on the 
road I Mw at a dirtanee a human being 
crawling ont from the bmshwood. I uked 
the Indian who it waa : ha told me "the 
same man who was with yon last evening." 
When I came oaarer I found it was Har- 
ihall, very wet ; I told him that he wonld 
have done better to remain with me at the 
fort than to paaa snch an nglj^night here ; 
bnt he told ma that he went np to Coloma, 
(54 milet) took his other hone and came 
half way to meet me ; then we rode up to 
the new Eldorado. In tha afiamoon the 
weather was clearing np, and we made a 
proapecting promenade. The next morn- 
ing we went to the t^-race of the mill, 
I through which tha water was mnning 
daring the night, to clean ont the gnvel 
which had been made looae, for the pnrpoae 
of widening the race j and after the vatei 



was out of the race we went in to search 
for gold. This was done every morning : 
small pieces of gold could be seen remain- 
ing on the bottom of the clean washed bed 
rock. I went in the race and picked np 
several pieces of this gold, several of the 
laborers gave me some which thej had 
picked np, and from Marshall I received a 
part. I told them that I wonld get a ring 
made of this gold as soon as it could be 
done in California ; and I have had a heavy 
ring made, with my family's coat of arms 
engraved on the outside, and on the inside 
of the ring is engraved, ''The first gold, 
discovered in January, 1848.^' Now if 
Mrs. Wimmer possesses a piece which has 
been found earlier than mine Mr. Marshall 
can tell,* as it was probably received from 
him. I think Mr. Marshall could have 
hardly known himself which was exactly 
the first little piece, among the whole. 

The next day I went with Mr. M. on a 
prospecting tour in the vicinity of Coloma, 
and the following morning I left for Sac- 
ramento. Before my departure I had a 
conversation with all hands : I told them 
that I would consider it as a great favor if 
they would keep this discovery secret only 
for six weeks, so that I could finish my 
large flour mill at Brighton, (with four run 
of stones,) which had cost me already 
about from 24 to 25,000 dollars— the peo- 
ple up there promised to keep it secret so 
long. On my way home, instead of feeling 
happy and contented, I was very unhappy, 
and could not see that it would benefit me 
much, and I was perfectly right in thinking 
BO ; as it came just precisely as I expected. 
I thought at the same time that it could 
hardly be kept secret for six weeks; and 
in this I was not mistaken, for about two 
weeks later, after my return, I sent up 
several teams in charge of a white man, as 
the teamsters were Indian boys. This man 
was acquainted with all hands up there, 
and Mrs. Wimmer told him the whole se- 

• Mn. Wlnuno'B piece weighs about fi^e d<dlu8 
tnd tirtlre eente. The firtt pite$, Mr. UanliBll »jb, 
wdghed abovt ttkj centib 

cret ; likewise the young sons of Mr. Wim- 
mer told him that they had gold, and that 
they would let him have some too ; and bo 
he obtained a few dollars' worth of it as a 
present. As soon as this man arrived at 
the fort he went to a small store in one of 
my outside buildings, kept by Mr. Smith, 
a partner of Samuel Brannan, and asked 
for a bottle of brandy, for which he wonld 
pay the cash ; after having the bottle he 
paid with these small pieces of gold. Smith 
was astonished and asked him if he intend- 
ed to insult him ; the teamster told him to 
go and ask me about it ; Smith came in, in 
great haste, to see me, and I told him at 
once the truth — ^what could I do? I had to 
tell him all about it. He reported it to Mr. 
S. Brannan, who came np immediately to 
get all possible information, when he re- 
turned and sent up large supplier of goods, 
leased a larger house from me, and com- 
menced a very large and profitable busi- 
ness ; soon he opened a branch house of 
business at Mormon Island. 

Mr. Brannan made a kind of daim 
on Mormon Island, and put a tolerably 
heavy tax on " The Latter Day Saints." 
I believe it was 30 per cent, which they 
paid for some time, until they got tired of 
it, (some of them told me that it was for 
the purpose of building a temple for the 
honor and glory of the Lord.) 

So soon as the secret was out my labor- 
ers began to leave me, in small parties 
first, but then all left, from the clerk to the 
cook, and I was in great distress; only a 
few mechanics remained to finish some 
very necessary work which they had com- 
menced, and about eight invalids, who con- 
tinued slowly to work a few teams, to scrape 
out the mill race at Brighton. The Mor- 
mons did not like to leave my mill unfin- 
ished, but they got the gold fever like 
everybody else. After they had made their 
piles they left for the Great Salt Lake. So 
long as these people have been employed 
by me they have behaved very well, and 
were industrious and faithftil laborers, and 
I when settling their accounts there was not 


•ne of them who wu not contented and 

Then the people commenced roahing ap 
frum Sfto Fr»nci«co and other paria of 
CelitlKDU,in Mej, 1646 : in the former vil- 
lage oolj fire men were left to take care 
of the women and children. The single 
Eien locked their doora and left for "Snt- 
ter'a Fort," and &om there to the Eldorado. 
For •oaw time the people in Houtere; and 
Euther aontfa wonld not believe the newi 
of the gold diicoverj, and said that it wag 
oal; a 'Riue de Giitrre' of Salter's, becaoae 
be wanted to have neighbors in his wilder- 
neie. From this time on I got onlj too 
nany neighbors, and some rerj bad ones 
among them. 

WhAt a great miifiurtaoe was this sudden 
fold diecorery for me 1 It has just broken 
sp and ruined mj hard, restless, and indns- 
triom labors, connected with many dangers 
of life, as I had manj narrow escapes be- 
fon I became properlj eilablisbed. 

From mj mill bnildings I reaped do 
benefit whaleTer, the mill stones even have 
been atolen and sold. 

Hj tannery, which was then in a flour- 
isbing coaditjon, and was carried oa very 
profitablj, was deeerted, a large qoantity 
oT leather was left nnfinished in the vats ; 
and a great qoantitj of raw hides became 
Ttloaleu as thej conld not be sold ; nobod j 
wanted to be bothered with such trash, as 
it wa« oUM. So it WM in all the o^ 

BT, DJ 1857. 

mechanical trades which I had carried on ; 
all was abandoned, and work commenced 
or nearly finished was all left, to an im- 
mense loss for me. Even the Indians had 
no more patience to work alone, in har- 
vesting and threshing my large wheat 
crop oat ; as the whites had all left, and 
other Indian! had been engaged by some 
white men to work for them, and thej 
commenced to have some gold for which 
thej were baying all kinds of articles at 
enormou prices in the stores; which, when 
mj Indians saw this, they wished very mQcb 
to go to the mountains and dig gold. At 
last I contented, got a nnmber of wagoni 
ready, loaded them with provisions and 
goods of all kinds, employed a clerk, and 
left with aboat one handred Indians, and 
aboDt fifty Sandwich Islanders (Kanakas) 
which bad joined those which I bronght 
with me from the Islands. The first oamp 
was abontten miles above Uormon Island, 
on the sonth fork of the American river. 
In a few weeks we became crowded, and it 
would no more pay, as my people made too 
many acquaintances. I broke np tbe camp 
and started on the march further south, 
and located my next camp on Sutler creek 
(now in Amador oonntj), and thought that 
I should there be alone. The work was 
gCHug on well for a while, nntil three or 
four traveling grog-ahops snrroauded me, 
at from one and a half to two miles dis- 
tviC4 fpm tl» cwnp ; then, of course, the 



gold was taken to these places, for drink- 
ing, gambling, etc., and then the following 
day they were sick and nnable to work, 
and became deeper and more indebted to 
me, and particalarl j the Ej&nakas. I found 
that it was high time to quit this kind of 
business, and lose no more time and money. 
I therefore broke up the camp and return- 
ed to the Fort, where I disbanded nearly 
all the people who had worked for me in 
the mountains digging gold. This whole 
expedition proved to be a heavy loss to me. 

At the same time I was engaged in a 
mercantile firm in Coloma, which I left in 
January, 1849 — likewise with many sac- 
rifices. After this I would have nothing 
more to do with the gold afiairs. At this 
time, the Fort was the great trading place 
where nearly all the business was trans- 
acted. I had no pleasure to remain there, 
and moved up to Hock Farm, with all my 
Indians, and who had been with me from 
the time they were children. The place 
was then in charge of a Major Domo. 

It is very singular that the Indians never 
found a piece of gold and brought it to me, 
as they very often did other specimens 
found in the ravines. I requested them 
continually to bring me some curiosities 
from the mountains, for which I always 
recompensed them. I have received ani- 
mals, birds, plants, young trees, wild firuits, 

pipe clay, stones, red ochre, etc., etc., but 
never a piece of gold. Mr. Dana, of the 
scientific corps of the expedition under Com. 
Wilkes* Exploring Squadron, told me that 
he had the strongest proof and signs of 
gold in the vicinity of Shasta Mountain, 
and further south. A short time afterwards. 
Doctor Sandels, a very scientific traveler, 
visited me, and explored a part of the 
country in a great hurry, as time would 
not permit him to make a longer stay. 

He told me likewise that he found sure 
signs of gold, and was very sorry that he 
could not explore the Sierra Nevada. He 
did not encourage me to attempt to work 
and open mines, as it was uncertain how it 
woula pay, and would probably be only 
profitable for a government. So I thought 
it more prudent to stick to the plow, not- 
withstanding I did know that the country 
was rich in gold, and other minerals. An 
old attached Mexican servant who followed 
me here from the United States, as soon as 
he knew that I was here, and who under- 
stood a great deal about working in placers, 
told me he found sure signs of gola in the 
mountains on Bear Creek, and that we 
would go right to work after returning from 
our campaign in 1845, but he became a 
victim to his patriotism and fell into the 
hands of the enemy near my encampment, 
with dispatches for me from Gen. Michel- 
torena, and he was hung as a spy, for which 
X was very sorry. 

By this sudden discovery of the gold, all 
my great plans were destroved. Had I 
succeeded with my mills and manufacto- 
ries for a few years before the gold was 
discovered, I should have been the richest 
citissen on the Pacific shore ; but it had to 
be different. Instead of being rich, I am 
ruined, and the cause of it is Uie long de- 
lay of the United States Land Commis- 
sion, of the United States Courts, through 
the great influence of the squatter lawyers. 
Before my case wUl be decided in Wash- 
ington, another year may elapse, but I hope 
that justice will be done me by the last 
tribunal — the Supreme Court of the United 
States. By the Land Commission and the 
District Court it has been decided in my 
£Etvor. The Common Council of the city 
of Sacramento, composed partly of squat- 
ters, paid Alpheus Felch, (one of the late 
Land Commissioners, who was engaged by 
the BQuatters during his office), ^,000, 
from tne fund of the city, against the will 
of the tax-payers, for which amount he has 
to try to defeat my just and old claim from 
the Mexican government, before the Su- 
preme Court of the Unitea States in Wash- 



UDfortQiiatelj for Oen. Salter, he had 
ooB fuling — hit heart vnu too large aitd 
emifiding. The tnen who ah&red most 
krgelj in his princely hospitality snd con- 
Sdence, were the first to take sd* aotage of 
it, by ateftling away his possessions. His 
geoerooi iiatare taught him to feel that all 
wUle wten were hone»t — bnt he did not find 
them so ; — a mistake to which is attribata- 
ble his prea e nt imporerlshed circnmstan- 
Ms> Now, when he shonld be enjoying 
the ^it of his long and enterprising la- 
bors in peace, he is annoyed with conten- 
lioiM and lawsuits innnmerable — simply in 
hjiKjf to JuAd hit own / Even the qaiet 
and plaaaaot Hock Farm — his homestead 
— (a spot which is ever sacred to the heart 
of an American) — was sold, not long 
•ioc*, ander the hammer of the sheriCT. 
Becently, howerer, it has been redeemed, 
St a great sacrifice. And this is the man 
to whom we are so much indebted for the 
gold diacoTery. Hay God forgive ns Cali- 
IbmiaBS, for onr ahamefnl indifiierence to 
the Old Pioneer. 

The following is Ur. Harshalt's acconnt 
of Us diMOvery of the gold : — 

Being a millwright by trade, as there 
WH ft n»ij caab nle fbr Inmber, I con- 

clnded to seek a locaUon in the monntuna 
and erect a mill, to supply the valley with 
lumber. Some time in April, 164T, I vis- 
ited New Helvetia, commonly known as 
the " Fort," where I made my resolution 
known to John A. Sutter, sen., and re- 
quested of him an Indian boy, to act as an 
interpreter to the mountain Indians in the 
vicinity of the American river — or Bio 
del loa Americanos, as it wss then called. 
At first he refused, because, he said that 
he had previously sent several companies, 
at various times, and by different routes, 
for that purpose, all of whom reported that 
it was impossible to find a rente for a 
wagon road to any locality where pine 
timber could be procured, and that it was 
the height of folly to attempt any snoh 

Capt Batter at length, however, [vom- 
ised me the desired interpreter, provided 
I would stock some six or eight plows tot 
him first, of which he was in immediate 
want, which I readily agreed to do. WbUe 
I was employed upon this job there was 
much talk at the Fort oonoeming my con- 
templated trip to the mountains ; and 
Messrs. Gingery, P. L. Wimmer and Uc- 
Lellan having resolved also to take a trip, « 
with tin Mine object in view, cam* where 



I WM working, and asked'me where I ex- 
pected to find a road and timber, and I 
promptly gave them my views and direc- 

They departed, I believe in company, 
bat finally separated, and P. L. Wimmer 
iband pine timber and a road, on what is 
DOW known as the Sacramento and Dia- 
mond Springs road, and about the 12th of 
May, Gingery and Wimmer commenced 
work, abont thirteen miles west of the (now 
called) Shingle Spring House. 

On the 16th of May, having completed 
my work for Oapt. Sutter, I started, with 

an Indian boy, Treador, and "W. A. 

Ghraves, (who is now residing in Butte 
county, and who had assisted me in my 
work, and heard the conversation between 
myself, Gingery, Wimmer and McLellan,) 
accompanied me for the purpose of seeing 
the mountains. On the 18th of May we 
entered the valley of CuUuma [Coloma] ; 
and on the 20th Gingery joined our com- 
pany. We then traveled up the stream 
now called Weber creek — ^the Indian name 
of which is Pul-Pul-Mull— to the head of 
the creek ; thence higher in the mountains 
nntil we arrived at the South Fork of the 
American river, where it divides into two 
branches of about equal size ; from whence 
we returned by Sly Park and Pleasant 
Valley to the Fort. 

On my arrival I gave Gapt. Sutter an 
Account of my trip, and what I had discov- 
ered. He thereupon proposed to me a 
partnership ; bat before we were ready to 
commence operations, some persons who 
had tried, in vain, to find Gulluma, report- 
ed to Sutter that I ''had made a false 
representation, for they could find no such 
place." To settle matters, Gapt. Sutter 
ftiraished me with a Mission Indian, who 
was Alcalde of the Gosumnes tribe, as an 
interpreter and guide — ^trusting partly to 
the Indian's report, as to the propriety of 
the proposed co-partnership. 

The report which I had made on my first 
trip having been fully confirmed by observe 
ationa on the second, the co-partnership 

was completed, and about the 27th of Au- 
gust we signed the agreement to build and 
run a saw-mill at Gulluma. On the third 
day (I think) afterwards, I set oat, with 
two wagons, and was accompanied by the 
following persons, employed by the firm of 
Sutter & Marshall, viz.: P. L. Wimmer 
and family, James Barger, Lra Willi^ Sid- 
ney Willis, Alex. Stephens, Wm. Ounce, 
James Brown, and Ezejciah Persons. 

On our arrival in the Valley we first 
built the double log cabin, afterwards 
known as Hastings & Go.'s store. About 
the last of September, as Gapt. Batter 
wanted a couple of capable men to con- 
struct a dam across the American river at 
the grist-mill — near where the Pavilion 
now stands — I sent the two Willis', as the 
most capable ; (Wm. Ounce being in fee- 
ble health, left about the same time ;) and 
I received Henry Bigler, Israel Smith, 

Wm. Johnston and Evans in retu;?i ; 

and shortly afterwards I employed Gharles 
Bennet and Wm. Scott, both carpenters. 
The above named individuals, with some 
ten Indians, constituted my whole force. 

While we were in the habit at night of 
turning the water through the tail race we 
had dug for the purpose of widening and 
deepening the race, I used to go down in 
the morning to see what had been done by 
the water through the night; and about 
half past seven o'clock on or about the 
19th of January — ^I am not quite certain 
to a day, but it was between the 18th and 
20th of that month— 1848, 1 went down as 
usual, and after shutting off the water fiK>m 
the race I stepped into it, near the lower 
end, and there, upon the rock, about six 
inches beneath tiie surface of the water, I 
DISCOVERED THE GOLD. I was entirely 
alone at the time. I picked up one or two 
pieces and examined them attentively; 
and having some general knowledge of 
minerals, I could not call to mind more 
than two which in any way resembled this 
— siUphuret of iron, very bright and brit- 
tle } and goldf bright, yet malleable ; I then 
tried it between two rocks, and found that 



h oould be beaten into a different shape, 
bat not broken. I then collected four or 
five jneoce and went up to Mr. Scott (who 
was working at the carpenter's bench 
making the mill wheel) with the pieces in 
mj hand, and said, " I hare found it." 

<< What is it?" inquired Scott 

''Gold,'' I answered. 

''Oh I no," retnmed Scott, <Hhat can't be." 

I replied positively, — '^I know it to be 
nothing else." 

Mr. Soott was the second person who 
saw the gold. W. J. Johnston, A. Stephens, 
H« Bigler, end J. Brown, who were also 
working in the mill yard, were then called 
np to see it. Peter L. Wimmer, Mrs. Jane 
Wimmer, C. Bennet, and J. Smith, were 
at the house ; the latter two of whom were 
nek; E. Persons and Joha Wimmer, (a 
son of P. L. Wimmer), were out hunting 
oxen at the same time. About 10 o'clock 
the same morning, P. L. Wimmer came 
down from the house, and was very much 
florpriaed at the discovery, when the metal 
was shown him ; and which he took home 
to show his wife, who, the next day, made 
some experiments upon it by boiling it in 
strong lyOy and saleratus ; and Mr. Bennet 
by my dirertions beat it very thin. 

Four days afterwards I went to the Fort 
hr provisons, and carried with me about 
three ounces of the gold, which Gapt. Sut- 
ter and I tested with nitric acid. I then 
tried it in Sutter's presence by taking three 
siher dollars and balancing them by the 
dust in the air, then immersed both in 
mltr, and the superior weight of the gold 
satisfied us both of its nature and value. 

About the 20th of February, 1848, Capt. 
Sutter came to Coloma, (or the first time, 
to consummate an agreement we had made 
with this tribe of Indians in the month of 
September previous, to wit: — that we live 
with them in peace, on the same land. 

About the middle of April the mill com- 
menced operation, and, after cutting a few 
thtffiffftT^ feet of lumber was abandoned ; 
as all hands were intent upon gold digging. 
Is December, '48, Gapt Sutter came again 

to Goloma, and some time in that month 
sold his interest in the mill to Messrs. 
Bagley & Winters, of which new firm I be- 
came a member. The mill was soon again 
in operation, and cut most of the lumber 
of which the town of Goloma was built. 

The j^r«^ piece of gold which I found, 
weighed about Jifty cents, Mr. Wimmer, 
having bought a stock of merchandise 
some time about May or June, 1848 ; and 
Mrs. Wimmer being my treasurer, used 
four hundred and forty dollars of my mo- 
ney to complete the purchase ', and among 
which was the first piece of gold which I 
had found. Where that went, or where it 
is now, I believe that nobody knows. 

J. W. Marshall. 

This is the unvarnished statement which 
the writer received from the lips and pen 
of Mr. James W. Marshall himself; and 
being unacquainted with him personally, 
I went to several gentlemen in Golomar^ 
among whom were several old pioneers 
still resident there — to ascertain, if possi- 
ble, whether or not Mr. M.'s statements 
were true and trustworthy, and the answer 
invariably was, in substance, '' Whatever 
Mr. Marshall tells you, you may rely upon 
as correct." I moreover read the affida- 
vits of several of the men who were pres- 
ent when the gold was discovered by Mar* 
shall, and which affidavits were affirmatory 
of the facts which are stated. 

There is another fact I wish here to 
mention, that it may be recorded in the 
remembrance of the English, as well as 
the American public. It is this: Mr. 
Hargraves, the discoverer of gold in Aus- 
tralia, was mining in Goloma in the sum- 
mer of 1849, and went to Sutter k Mar- 
shall's mill for some lumber; and as he 
and Marshall were leaning against a pile 
of lumber, conversing, Mr. H. mentioned 
the fact that he was from Australia. 
" Then why," replied Marshall, '* don't you 
go and dig gold among your own moan- 
tains? for, what I have heard of that 
country, I have no doubt whatever that 
you would find plenty of it there." 



" Do you think so, indeed V inquired 

'' I do/' was the answer. 

" If I thought so I would go down there 
this very autumn/' was Hargraves' reply. 
He went ; and with what result, the mil- 
lions of pounds sterling which have since 
poured into the British treasury can give 
the history. 

Mr. Hargraves; for this discovery, re- 
ceived from the British Government the 
sum of £5,000, (or twenty-five thousand 
dollars,) and from the Australian govern- 
ment £10,000, or $50,000, making $75,000. 

Mr. Marshall is almost denied the credit 
of the discovery, by some unprincipled 
persons, and his reward from the United 
States Government is, alas! what? At 
this very moment wronged of every dollar 
and every foot of land which he possessed, 
he would not have, but for the daily char- 
ity of compwdative strangers, even a cabin 
in which to lay his head to rest at night — 
and, is this, kind readers, gratUudc f — our 
gratitude ? to the man by whose instru- 
mentality a new age— THE GOLDEN 
AGE — has been inaugurated. 

In August last, anxious to obtain an ex- 
cellent portrait of Mr. Marshall, I jour- 
neyed to Goloma for that purpose ; and, 
although Mr. M. cheerfully gave every in- 
formation in a very simple and straight- 
forward manner concerning the history of 
the country and of the men who figured in 
it around Goloma, at an early day, he could 
not be prevailed upon to allow his likeness 
to be taken. After returning to this city, 
a letter was penned to him, urgently ask- 
ing for it, and the following answer was re- 
ceived, which, while it denies the request, 
will also show the just bitterness of his 
spirit at the treatment he has received : — 

CoUmM, Sept. Sihf 1857. 
DiAE Sir: — In replv to your note re- 
ceived three days ago, I wish to say that I 
feel it a duty I owe to myself to retain my 
likeness, as it is in fact all I have that I 
can caU my oum, and I feel like any other 
poor wretch — I want aomething for sel£ 
The sale of it may yet keep me m>m starv- 
ing ; or, if may buy me a dose of medi- 

cine in sickness ; or pay for the funeral of 
a — dog — apd such is all that I expect, judg- 
ing fi^m former kindnesses. I owe the 
country nothing. The enterprising energy 
of which the orato/s and editors of Califor- 
nia's eariy golden days boasted so much, 
as belonging to Yankeedom, was not na- 
tional, but individual. Of the profits de- 
rived firom the enterprise, it stands thus— 

Yankeedom, $600,000,000 

Myself Isdividnally, $000^,000 

Ask the records of the country for the rea- 
son why ; they will answer — I need not 
Were I an Englishman, and had made my 
discovery on English soil, the case would 
have been different. I send you this in 
place of the other. Excuse my rudeness 
in answerin|^ you thus. 

I remain, most resnectfully, 


Is this, then, the reward befitting the 
dignity and gratitude of a great nation 
And people — ^like our own — ^for that dis- 
covery which has poured hundreds of mil- 
lions of wealth into the laps of the people 
and the treasury of our country ; and, in 
addition to giving us the stability conse- 
quent upon the establishment of a metallic 
currency, (which is the desire and envy of 
all nations) has spread prosperity across 
the broad acres of every State in the 
Union ? while the indrndadl who has been 
the cause of this, is allowed almost to 
starve of hunger and exposure in our 
mountains ! Who, then, is there among 
us that does not feel his cheek glow with 
shame at such ungrateful neglect? Let 
him answer, for he needs our pity. If the 
Executive ear is closed against a fit reward 
for such an important service, let you and 
I, gentle reader, put our hand into our own 
pocket, and if we find it empty, let us deny 
ourselves some little luxury, if needs be, 
that we may yet, in some measure, wipe 
out the disgracefhl stain from our history, 
by seeing that James W. Marshall, the 
discoverer of gold in Galifomia, has at 
least a fertile farm which he can cdl his 
own, and where he may spend his remain* 
ing days in comparative easoy — ^without 
the humiliation of dependence upon stran- 
gers, after the benefit he has conftrred 
upon our oountryi and the world. 

[n«iii a ZkiffierTiitiipc tt 

TUa pictaie is intended to represent tlie 
Kmc at bMne, after liU day'i work ig done. 
To dM nuw who rues early, tbat be ma; 
code hi* br««k&at and be at work by son- 
riae ; and ritt down by hie claim, or upon 
Ua cabin tbieahbold to rest hie body, while 
be «ata hia mid-day meal ; or wben tiie son 
baa aoDk beyond the distant hill, hies bim 
IS bia cabin to chop his wood, kindle hia 
fira, and prepare his food ; there is ti lux- 
DT in UkiDg a seat outside the door, while 

bis sapper is cooking ; and in the cool and 
quiet of the evening, with his EiTorite doz 
br his side, to take nis Ante, or violin, and 

Home ;" and whila his faithfiil guardian 
kseps watch that no "evil thing" comes 
nigh his master's dwelling ; his thoughts 
turn naturally upon the theme and bnrden 
of the song which is still lingering upon 
hia lips ana in hia heart 

All ! well do I remember 

Wbra fiiat yon met my gaze — 

'TwM not in joyoiu sunshine, 

Bat 'neatli a lamp's dim rays; 

I eao^t thine ejea soft beaming — 

I Htw thy matohJeas form : 

With lore my heart was teeming, 

Alu I a love too warm. 

A aeon of months, so fleeting. 

Hare puwd anee that sweet time, 

Tet my heart is wildly beating 

While I indite this rhyme. 

I hare met thee in the morning 

And at Ae eventide ; 

Aad when the mpon, adorning 

The hills like some ^ir bride, 

We have wandered by the brookside — 

W« have chatted by the oak, — 

We have talked all kinds of nonsense, 

Bat of love I never spoke. 

Now they tell me thon'rt another's 

And soon will be hia bride ; 

Bat, can I endnre a rival 

For a moment by thy side f 

1 no — the thought is madness — 

It never can be tme. 

Wonldst thon oanse me alt this sadness 

And pierce my bosom through F 

All other joys excelling 

Woold be that love of thine ;-^ 

Then tnm away not ooldly, 

Bat return this love of mine. J. 




How a hen exalte in her maternity I 
When she comes off her nest with a troop 
of chickens about her heels, she erecte her 
feathers and elevates her wings ; she whirls 
in circles and semi-circles ; and she clacks 
vigorously, just as if there was not another 
maternal hen on the premises. She re- 
joices just as much over her first eg^, 
though the manifestation is somewhat dif- 

There had been a considerable time of 
barrenness among our hens, so that we 
could scarce remember the date of the last 
egg ; but one morning the sudden excite- 
ment that was manifested among the poul- 
try, with one clear voice that sounded 
above all the others, was an unmistakable 
indication that an egg had been laid. The 
hen cackled n^ost earnestly ; and iihmedi- 
ate and rapid responses were made by 
every rooster in the vicinity. The younger 
members of the flock, not yet accustomed 
to this family demonstration, took imme- 
diate refuge in the poultry-house, where 
they stood in great consternation. Still 
the hen cackled, and still the roosters 
crowed ; and the flock peered about and 

5;azed at each other, ^eatly bewildered. 
t was a spruce, sleek little black hen that 
had originated all this excitement. There 
she stM)d, right over her nest, elevated 
above all the others, now looking down at 
the hens, and now upon the eeg she had 
deposited there. It was a smafi egg ; but, 
under the circumstances, this was quite 
excusable. She had set the example, and 
inaugurated the laying season. 

Corpulent old speckled hen stalked about 
with considerable gravity, and a look that 
said, ''I can do uat" Another chubby 
little black hen seemed somewhat discon- 
certed. She moved about with her head 
down, as if looking for a speck of some- 
thing to eat ; but her efforte were without 
success. She did now and then pick at 
some little things, but she could make 
nothing out of them. Several others of 
smaller pattern held their heads erect with 
a very evident effort to appear calm, while 
they were almost stifled with anger. Theirs 
was a conflict with wounded pride, without 
sufficient self-command to conceal it. In 
about a quarter of an hour the excitement 
passed away; and, soon after, the flock 
were picking about as if nothing had hap- 
pened—but, we had no scarcity of eggs 
afterwards — so much for a good examme I 



Sweet is a fountain's silver chime, 

Or the hum of a woodland bee, 
Under the boughs of the honied lime, 

Or the buds of a wild rose-tree ; 
'Neath the golden bloom of the summer mom 

There's many an Elfin strain, 
But dearest to me on the old roof-tree 

Is the patter of the rain I 

Long ago, when I was a child, 

Did I listen to its tone, 
Falling as now on the moss-tufts wild. 

And the hyacinth blue and lone j 
Stringing its pearls on the brook-side grass, 

And over the orchard boughs, 
Where the next bright mom the wind will pass 

And scatter them over our brows. 

Thus when the l{ght of day grows dim, 

From its toil and care aloof, 
I love to listen the tuneful hymn 

Of the rain-drops on the roof I 
Not that the bright shower comes to ftdl 

Over the leaf-voiced glade, 
Or out in the forest's busy hall 

Where the oriole's nest is made ; 

Not that it kisseth the roses red. 

Or the violets blue and white, 
Such a spell to my heart is wed 

As I list its voice at night : 
But it weeps o'er many a buried head, 

Unchanged through the lonesome years : 
On the bright green turf that hides the deaa, 

It falls like an angel's tears 1 

Oh, soft the light of a summer night, 

When stars smile through the bosh, 
And sweet to wake at the young day-break, 

When the early sunbeams blush ; 
But dearest, when I have weary grown. 

And the night shuts over all. 
To list in mv quiet room above, 

To the rain-drops as they falL 

Not that they gem the lily's heart. 

Or the rose's robe of fire, 
But I muse in the evening hush apart. 

O'er memory's magic lyre ; 
And as I list, round my weary head 

There gathers a vision train, 
The early changed, and the early dead. 

They are mine, all kiKE aoain I 

Therefore I love the tender vnne 

That the rain spirits weave at night, 
Dearer far than voice and lyre in tune, 

In the perftimed, star-lit night : 
For over the harp that memory plays 

There wakeneth many a strain, 
Bringing thoaghts of my dear lost days, 

That will flsvflr come a^fam ! 



blU of Ibe 

(or taranb) 

ib«v Ml. 
(bra the 

ler from both 

wbcrain Ikal 

Harinjc been favored bj Ur. Ckpp wiih 
tnoag* oT eDgranQjcs &om an tdd book, 
31n*tnUiTfl uid deicriptive of the method 
of mining two hundred yean ago, we an 
enabled to give them to oar readers — the 
tblloving accoDDt of which appeared in the 
ff1^^lmn» of the Eeating Btdletin: 

Aa » natter of corioeitj to our readen, 
and aa ahowiog bow few real advaacei 
have been made in the art of gold-waihiog, 
net «d1j aince the diieoreiT of the preciona 
matsl in thu State, bnt within the paittwo 
cantariea, and uotwithitaadins tM numj 
'inpcoraiMnU'' adc^ited, ana Um "new 

D TXUB mo. m.L 

inTentiou " fbr the psrpou made in CaU- 
fomia and elsewhere, we publish the ex- 
tracts given below from a verj old work on 
the sn^ect. Bj the politeness of Hr. At- 
wood, of Grass Tallej, onr traveling cor- 
respondent was allowed to eopj the de- 
scnpUODS of the proceases nsed in Hnngaiy 
two hundred Tears ago, together with two 
loaghlj etched illnstrationa, given in the 
work, and exhibiting the machinery men- 
tioned and the mode of nsing it The work 
was published in Enftland in 1683, and 
waa merely a translation of five volumes 
on the subject of mining, written a nnmber 
of v«an befbn. The Htle of the work it 



'* The Laws of Art and Natorei in 
Knowing, Judging, Assaying, Fining, Re- 
fining, and Enlarging the Bodies of con- 
fined Metals: In two parts. The first 
contains Assays of Lazams Erkem, Chief 
Prober (or Assay Master (General) of the 
Empire of Germany : In fiye books : Orig- 
inally written by him in the Teutonic Lan- 
guage and now translated into English. 
The second contains Essays on Metallic 
Words, as a Dictionary to many pleasing 
Discourses, by Sir John Pettus, of Suffolk, 
Et of the Society for the Royal Mines, 

From Book 2, page 104:— **If upon 
search he doth find by such proof that the 
wash work will recompense his labor, pains 
and charges, then each one, according as 
he is best instructed doth wash the same, 
and make his profit thereby, among which 
there are some who do wash that which 
doth lye in the Fields under the moist 
earth, and also the sand out of the flowing 
Rivers or Channels, and do wash it over a 
board in which are cut little gutters and 
wrinkles, here and there, into which the 
heavy Gold will descend and remaineth ; 
but part of it will wash over, especially if 
the work be rich and hath grain Gold; 
but if he doth go slow, it requires more 

« Some years past there was found upon 
such Work and Sand, by the water side, a 
special Work by which in one day near 
300 weight of rubbish have been washed 
away and the Gold saved : which is done 
thus. There must first be made of Brass 
Wire a Rattar or Sieve as wide or narrow 
as the work requireth and it is to be tyed, 
from above downward, with Brass Wire, 
and it must be stretched fast upon Iron 
Stays that it may not bend or rise ; the big- 
ness of the Rattar is to be seven spans 
long, and five wide, and in depth a good 
span, with a bottom that doth enter two- 
thirds into the Rattar, and ¥dth one-third 
part to be extended for carrying the mat- 
ter out (which is to be done over with Tin.) 
The Ri^tar must also have, on each side. 

little wooden pieces fitftened to it» by 
which he may reach to the fioremoBt In- 
struments that the gross matter that doth 
not go through may easily be emptyed. As 
also the lower bottom under the Rattar 
must have on each side Boards fiutened 
to it, that nothing may fiill from the Rat- 
tar, for firom that place the Work passeth 
from the Rattar, upon the flat hearth 
(which is to be thirty spans in length and 
four broad) and the channel through which 
the water doth run out must be wider than 
above, and also covered over with Tin. To 
this there is also Water used more or less 
according as the work is foul and sandy. 
This Wash-Work serveth only for San^- 
works, but not at aU for the clean aiA deft ; 
yet because this work is not common to 
this day, therefore I have delineated it in 
the following Sculpture. 

"Then some of the gold-washers use 
upon their hearths the strong Timode 
black and russet woolen doth, over which 
they do drive their works, because the 
woolen cloth is rough and hairy, so that 
the small and round grains of gold will re- 
main, and not run forth (as it wiQ from 
the Timode,) whereby the gold (upon the 
black cloth) may apparently be known, 
though it be small and little. 

'' Others use, instead of the Timode, or 
black woolen cloth's linsy woolsy (half lin- 
en and half woolen, wrought in the man- 
ner the Timode is,) upon which the gold 
doth stick better, and such cloths do last 
longer, because of the linen there is among 
the woolen, which doth strengthen it, there- 
fore it is better for this work. 

«But there is another way of washing 
(not much in use) which is called drirag 
and washing through the long Rattar ; but 
according to my mind it is not so conve- 
nient a way for small works, which have 
great and small gold and are both sand 
and clay together, yet I do not much de* 
cline from the before described Rattar 
work« For in this labor and washing, be- 
cause of the turning in the upper and 
lower falls, the running gold is preserved 


TLLOMR MnnNa two hdhdud t 

b«ttar, Mtd the gold goeth with the smftll 
eoAUBon work orcr the pkin hemrA upon 
whif^ it u driTCD." 

The "profF" TeEamd to is the triftl 
nlhin^ for A " color " or b " good pros- 
peet." " Thst which doth \je m the fields 
Bflder the moist euth," is nothing more or 
1«M than the " pkf sntTel,'' which the old 
■iMan koew ea well how to search for a« 
imiMlir< RiTer and gulch [" cbuiDels"] 
djniaaa were the swne aa in Califorois. 
^e "hoard" was the bottom of a "long 
torn" or "sluice box" — "in which were 
cat little gntters or wrinkles here and 
tkvtk in which the hear; gold will de- 
se«iM and remaineth" — precisel; the same 
•s the "riffles" and " cleets " now nsed. 
Thui, as BOW, thej fonnd that " part of it 
win wHh orer, especially if Uie work 

EeUin or earth] be rich, and hath grain 
or ine] gdi;" and the; alio [ooMblj 

aaSered this loss, becanse wheD*'he [the 
miner] doth go slow it reqnirelh mnch 
pains. This and the high cost of labor 
here led to the disuse of the sieve in Cali- 
fomia, and the introdnction of slaieet to 
wash larger quantities of dirt and more 
rapidlj, and which is, in all probabilitj, 
the same as the ' ' driving through the long 
rattar " referred to, but to which the writer, 
who evidently understood the business, ob- 
jects where cUims [works] are small, and 
" have great and small gold, and are both 

sand and clay together 
cbinerj desenbed, t' 

Bj the ] 

, the washing of three 
hundred weicht of dirt conld be washed ia 
a daj, and the gold saved, which was con. 
sidered by the writer " a big day's work." 

The drawinffs above alluded to repre- 
sent die sicTe hung up bj heavj chains to 
a frame. The dirt is thrown on it from a 



out tte large stone. The dirt and gold tnb, aa cUt used to be "puddled" in llio 

frlla upon & board aloping backwards, SontlieRi HiDes. 

praciserf like the "apron" of the common The old description, together with the 

locker, and then npon a " long torn " or fact that the belt-pump now used for 

"■Inice," some fi»een feet or more in drainage, Mid the common rocker, were 

length, with gutters or cleeta in it. The ancient Chinese invenUons, go to prore 

"tulingt" fall into a square box, where the truth of the saving, that most new 

they were stirred with a hoe, and the set- discoveries nre merelj recoveries of tiiinga 

tlingi vere finallj washed again in a large of value from the oblivion of past ages. 

r, OB BOOXDma sots, bH the aMmojas ritbb. 


This is the name of one of the wildest 
ud most singular scenes to be witnessed 
npoQ the rivers of California. About a 
■lile below Bowman's Bridge, the Cosnm- 
nea river near the forks, commencea t<i pass 
through a steep, deep and exceedmglj 
loogh and rockj cafion ; and down which 
it rashes in angrj and foaming confusion 
at an angle of about thirty degrees, until 
it reaches a large oblong hole, worn in the 
•olid rock throogh which it leaps, making 
ft vaj beantiinl wateifUl, some three hun- 

dred feet in length. On its sides stand 
bold and broken rocks, some of them over- 
hanging, about four hundred feet in height ; 
and where a sound given is echoed nine 
times. Hence arises the Indian uuna 
Tomet, or *' Sounding Kock." In the ed- 
dying pool below the iails, the Indians are 
very fond of fishing, and consequently it is 
quite a place of resort during the spring 
and snmmer months. And as they Stand, 
dressed in an endless variety of costume, 
ihey present a striking contrast to the 
magnificent panorama of bean^ tronnd 
them, which is indiscribable. 



BT W. B. 8. 

It WB8 a beauiifiil morning in May, 
in the year 185-, that Jo and I started 
on a prospecting toor on the South Fork 
of the Salmon riyer^ in the northern 
portion of the State ; onr claim having 
failed where we were working, and we 
determined to try our luck in new dig- 
gings, and as oonsiderable had been 
said dbout the diggings on the Salmon, 
we thought our chances good for some 
of the **djiatJ' 

Jo was my first mining companion ; 
he riiared all the fortunes and misfor- 
tanQ9 of a miner's life for many a long 
and lonely day^ and had it not been for 
his lively disposition, and determined 
peneverence, I should left off mining 
long since, but he was always pointing 
out to me the bright star of hope, and 
telling me there was a '^ better time 
coming/' when ^e should make our 
fbrtones and return to distant friends, 
who irere anxiously awaiting our coming. 
Should this little narratiye fall under 
his obserration he will recognise the 
see&es here portrayed, and the grayes 
by the mountain trail. 

After many days of toilsome trayel 
oyer the mountains, with our blankets on 
our bocks, a portion of the time oyer 
snow from ten to fifty feet deep, we 
aniyed at the place of our destination, 
which I think was one of the most des- 
olate looking places I haye oyer seen in 
Galifemia. We stoped at a trading 
post, where they fed us on spoiled pork 
and beans ; but we did not remain there 
longy as we could find nothing by pros- 
pecting which would pay us to locate. 

Here let me relate a little incident, 
to show the affections that exist be- 
tween two mining companions when 
thrown together in the mountains. 
While we were at the trading post Jo 
was offered an interest in a company 
which had just '< struck'' pay dirt, 
which prospected yeiy rich, and they 
wanted another partner to complete the 
company to work to good advantage. I 


I tried to prevail upon Jo to st(^ with 
them, as I believed they had a good 
thing, but I could not unless they 
would give me a situation, which they 
could not conveniently do. After con- 
siderable persuasion he reluctantly con- 
sented. Next morning, long before 
the sun made hb appearance, I rolled 
up my blankets preparatory to retracing 
my steps across the mountains, but on 
a different trail. When I took Jo by 
the hand to bid him adieu I could see 
a tear lingering in the comer of his 
noble eyes, while a melancholy sigh 
escaped his manly bosom. The last 
salutation was given and I started alone 
on my long and lonesome road, for I 
had near twenty miles to go before I 
came to any house. As I was ascend- 
ing the mountain, and when about three 
miles distant, I heard some one calling 
my name, and when I looked back I 
saw Jo coming up the mountain. I 
sat down and waited until he came up 
to me, smiling as he came, saying, 
'* Bill, I could not stay and see you go 
off alone, for wherever your destmation 
is there shall be mine, so long as yon 
and I follow mining.'' 

Jo and I spent many a long day to- 
gether in the mines, but for the last 
year I have heard nothing from him, 
but presume he has gone to the Atlantic 

We traveled on until dark that night 
before we came to a place to stop. 
The place where we put up was com- 
posed of two stores, and one hotel kept 
by a man with a &mily. There were 
about two hundred miners around there 
at work doing well, as far as I could 
learn. We remained at this place 
several days, prospecting, and during 
our stay there I became acquainted 
with a man whose appearance was of a 
melancholy character, and whom I 
knew was oppressed with sorrow from 
some cause, which I intended to find 
out if he did not tell me without ask- 
ing. One evening after tea he asked 
me to take a walk with him, which I 
willingly consented to do. He took 
me up the trail about a half a milsi 



where we turned off to the left, be- 
neath a stately pine tree, and beneath 
its wide-spread branches were two 
graves^ one very small and the other 
the common size. After we became 
seated I asked him if he knew whose 
remains these were^ interred here in 
this lonely spot so far from the endear- 
ments of a sweet home. I noticed a 
shade pass over his conntenance, and 
his eyes were turned to the ground, — 
and the first words he spoke were : 
" Would to God I did not ! " and then 
he continued : '^ You are a stranger to 
me, but from what I have seen of you 
since you came here I take you to be a 
person who will sympathize with the 
disconsolate, and to such my heart 
beats in unison. These graves contain 
the remains of all that was dear to me 
on earth : all that gave life a charm, 
now are mingled with the dust, and 
their spirits have gone to that sweet re- 
pose around the throne of Him who 
gave them, and would that mine was 
there to dwell with them, where the 
sorrows of earth would cease, and we 
should be united in one holy band, 
never more to part. I was married in 
1846, and lived on the banks of the 
Illinois river, a few miles below Peru, 
where I had a little farm, and was as 
happy as the heart could wish, for I 
had a wife who was kind and affection- 
ate, on whose bright beaming counte- 
nance ever rested a sweet smile at my 
approach; and then the little angel 
Eva, who was the image of her mother, 
had just began to get large enough to 
climb upon my lap. Julia and Eva 
were all the world to me : besides them 
the world had no charm for me, and to 
be with them I asked no happier boon, 
for I never cherished a happy thought 
that* was not theirs, or spent a happy 
moment that I did not wish them to 
enjoy it with me. Thus passed four 
yean of my life with the cup of pleas- 
ure overflowing, when, in '50, the Cal- 
ifornia fever was running high in that 
portion of the country; I became one 
of its subjects, and, after long and ear- 
nest persuasion^ I prevailed upon Julia 

to start to this country with me, much 
against her will and that of her rela- 
tives, who were very wealthy, and 
offered me many inducements if 1 would 
only give up the idea of going to Cal- 
ifornia ; but all would not do, go I 
must ; and, alas ! how many thousand 
times I have regretted the hour I 
started, for Julia scarcely ever saw a 
well' day afler we left home.'' 

Here he stopped to give vent to his 
over-charged heart by the flowing of 
tears, and nothing was said for several 
minutes, for I could not refrain from 
shedding tears to see the grief of the 

Cr disconsolate fellow. The brightest 
^les of a fond heart had been crashed, 
the last object dear to the soul had 
been swept away, and now the dark 
and mysterious future only remained, 
with no bright spot to which he could 
point, and say there is a happier time 
coming on earth, for his hopes were 
buried in those two graves. 

He continued — " Julia said when we 
got aboard of the. river steamer, and 
our little cottage was fast disappearine 
in the distance, that she felt aa though 
she should never see that happy home 
again. Little did I think so then ; but, 
alas ! how true was the saying ; for her 
remains now rest in the narrow cham- 
bers of death by the side of that of our 
dear little Eva, here in the wild moun- 
tains, far from their native land, where 
the moaning winds whisper the last 
requiem over their lonely graves; in 
those graves is buried my last hope of 
earth, and may I soon meet them be- 
yond the stars, and join with them in 
singing the praises of Him who is the 
dispenser of all that is good." 

We returned to the hotel, but sleep 
came not to my eyes until the night 
had far advanced, so excited had I be- 
come at the recital of his melancholy 

Jo and I remained a few days more 
and then started on our journey, since 
which time I never heard a word of 
Theodore Worthington un^ a few days 
ago I heard that he had been dead over 
a year, and that he was buried, as re- 



qoeatedi 1^ the side of bis dear Julia 
and little fiva. The infonnation of his 
death is what gave rise to the title of 
my piece, '^ The Three Graves." 

I naye often thought of him during 
mj wanderings in California^ and won- 
dered what had become of the poor 
fellow; but he sleeps in death with 
those he loyed in life, and their friends 
in a distant land will no more gather 
anm&d the domestic fireside to wait 
their return, for the mournful tidings 
hare long since been borne to them on 
the wings of time of their sad fate. 


They led them out, 'neath the bright heavens, 

So young, to fair, to die ! 
Paleness is on each marble brow, 
Each lip compreesed in silence now, 

Angnish in every eye. 

Tbey stood on that old plaza bound, 

Beneath the all-teeing son — 
Oh! God 1 what scenes of sorrow deep, 
Of agony that could not weep, 

Tmne eye hath looked npdn ! 

One inaka^he was a noble youth. 

Of u>fty meiu and air ; 
And wlme he spake, you might have heard 
The breeoe that scarce his ringlets stirred— 

Such was the silence there. 


NO. II. 

** I have a mother, weak and old, 

In the land beyond the sea — 
Unloose the chain from off my breast, 
When ye have laid this form to rest, 
And bear one word for me. 

Ml lier I died a soldier's death, 

On a far distant shore ; 
Tell her my heart was with her there, — 
Tell hex for her mv dyinff prayer 

Went up, ere all was <rer. 

Tell her to bear this crashing blow, 
Though feeble, old, and gr^ ; — 

Let it not kill her 1 Oht my God! 

Lest on my soul should come her blood, 
And fearfhl agony !" 

He eeaaed— and eyes unused to weep, 

Shed SMlding teai^drops there ; 
And strong men bowed themselves in pain, 
Who never more might weep again. 
At that brave youth's deqiair. 

He oeaaed-Hoid when they led him forth, 

With that brave band to die, 
Tean stood e'en on the foeman's face, 
As in tte ranks he took his place, 

And— elosed his agony. G. T. S. 

The snpernataral machinery of the Gre< 
cian Epic was entirely unsuitable for the 
spirit of the age, and besides was objec- 
tionable on the score of religion ; but the 
Eastern stories which detailed the adven* 
tures of errant youths, who, leaving their 
fathers* roof had strolled into foreign pla- 
ces, where all manner of incidents befel 
them, in which magicians and genii per- 
formed a principal part, were not so dis- 
cordant with popular opinion. The al- 
chemists, who, according to common belief, 
could transform the baser metals into gold, 
were also supposed to possess other arts no 
less powerful and equally mysterious. The 

{)rediction from horoscopes of the future 
brtunes of Uiose scions of nobility, for 
whom astrological observations and calcu* 
lations were cniefly made, was believed in 
by all, and the power of the devil and his 
angels was universalljr admitted to be much 
more extensive than it is now supposed to 
be — an opinion which was fully supported 
and connrmed by the legends of the 
saints, as promulgated by the authority of 
the Ghurcn herself. There was a super- 
natural machinery belonging to themselves, 
which afforded to writers of fiction oppor- 
tunities of becoming conspicuous with a 
fiftcility which, since the days of Hume and 
his cotemporaries, the world had not pos- 
sessed. It only wanted to be ignitea by 
this spark of oriental origin to be taken 
advanta^ oi^ especially as they had in 
those oriental stories a good precedent 
for having their romances in prose. An 
excellent ground-work was also afforded 
in the GruMdes, furnishinsr a fit cause to 
make the noblest of the land leave their 
homes, and visit countries with whom the 
inhabitants of Europe were entirelv un- 
acquainted : whereby any amount of won- 
ders might oe introduced, and their heroes 
made to meet with anj sort of supernatural 
adventures, and perform any amount of 
supernatural achievements, without risk of 
detection. Thus the introduction of Bo- 
manccy as a species of literature exactly 
suited for the timesi followed almost as a 
natural consequence of the peculiar cir- 
cumstances of the age. 

So far Romance, by which for a time 
Poetry was eclipsed and confined almost 
exclusively to pastoral life, boldly under- 
took to discharge one of the principal du- 
ties of the Epic muse, in furnishing stories 
equally interesting^ and equally abundant 


titlTCm^GS^ CALtt*OttNIA kA6A2IK& 

in incidents, both natural and eupernat- 
nral. To make np in some measure for 
the apparent defect of the want of poetical 
nnmberSy the inventors of this species of 
writing introduced a pecnliarlj flowery and 
hyperbolical kind of style, wnich is more 
or less in favor with people of a romantic 
turn of mind to this day. Looked at phi- 
losophically, this species of writing seems 
highly ridiculous, adopting, as it frequently 
does, as an admitted rule, never to intro- 
duce a substantive without lugging in an 
adjective along with it, to give it a certif- 
icate of character — a task which chaster 
writers now-a-days generally leave to be 
discharged by verbs, if they deem it worth 
their while to take any notice of the gentle- 
man at all, except to let him do his work 
?uietly without saying a word about him. 
hough this species of writing, which has 
received the appropriate designation of 
''prose run mad,'' may now seem perfectly 
ridiculous, it effected an improvement on 
language of which even Poetry might have 
despaired. Writers of Romance were no 
less careful in finding words of proper 
length and sound to suit the roundings of 
their sentences than the poets had been ; 
and as they wrote in prose, their writings 
were more suitable for common conversa- 
tion. It is true their language was pomp- 
ous and unwieldy, but its chief defect was 
that it was richer in words than in ideas, 
and aimed at having an excess of gorge- 
ousness and beauty which was inconvenient 
and absurd. But these were defects which 
the increasing intelligence and common 
sense of mankind could not fail to curtail ; 
and the mere fact that society was thus set 
to setting their words on end, and selecting 
those which were most suitable for dis- 
play, had a wonderful effect in improving 
the languages of Continental Europe ; and 
another of the advantages which Poetry 
confers on the world was for a time no less 
efficiently discharged by her new deputy. 

In England, owing to various causes, 
native literature was not of so early growth 
as on the continent. Britain was the most 
remote of the Roman colonies, and amon? 
the first from which she withdrew her so^ 
diers. The domination of the Romans 
had tamed their former warlike spirit, and 
on their departure, though the number of 
the inhabitants of England greatly ex- 
ceeded that of Scotland, they found them- 
selves unable to contend with their hardier 
and less reducible neighbors, and for the 
purpose of enabling them to resist their 
danng inroads, thev were glad to procure 
the assistance of the Saxons. Like the 

horse in the fable, which courted the alli- 
ance of the man to enable it to humble 
the offending bear, they found in their new 
allies associates who were no less scrupu- 
lous and more tenacious than the highland 
brigands whom they had helped them to 
expel. To the sturdier Saxons, the ^een 
fields of Britain presented too inviting a 
prospect of rural felicity to relinquish to 
the feeble natives, who, without their aid, 
seemed unable to preserve them ; and like 
other moral sophists, they concluded they 
might as well nave them as the Scots, or 
any other people who had no more right 
to them tnan they had. The country, 
which they had been invited to guard, they 
resolved to appropriate ; and they did so. 
But the possessions which they had ob- 
tained by stealth, they were destined to 
lose by violence. The same attractions 
which had tempted them to violate the 
laws of honor and hospitality, had equal 
influence over the bastard of Normandy ; 
and thus within a comparatively short 
time, in England four different races suc- 
cessively had the ascendency*— British, 
Roman, Saxon, and Norman. 

The literature of the ancient Celts, by 
whom Great Britain and Ireland were ori- 
ginally peopled, if we may believe the 
glowing accounts of the remnants of the 
race who still retain their original lan- 
guage, was superior to that of their Con- 
tinental neighbors. But as those who are 
loudest in its praise affirm that it also ex- 
celled that of modern times, we have good 
reason to suspect the soundness of the 
opinion. The specimens which they pro- 
duce, even admitting Assian to be genu- 
ine, (whom the investigations of the High- 
land Society have lefl; with scarcely a foot 
to stand on,) would warrant us in arriving 
at a very different conclusion. The poems 
exhibit a gorgeousness of display but a 
sameness ot incident ; a &int and dreamy, 
but also gloomy delineation of Gods seen 
only through the haze of mist, and whose 
voices could only be indistinctly heard 
through the louder peals of the storm. 
Then the Gods of the Irish Muse were 
merely Titans, in whom brute force sup- 

Elied the place of wisdom* We may oflen 
e annoved, in reading Homer, at the in- 
termeddling spirit of the Grecian Gods, 
but they display an energy of character 
and intelligible action, which we look for 
in vain in the bulky and clouded divinities 
of the Western Islands. Their heralds, 
as was natural, partook of the character 
of their Gods ; and in the crude composi- 
tions of those simple barbarians (of the 



genoineneM of which there is less doubt») 
eren the eoftest heads admit that there is 
little to admire except the language. If 
its unearthly sonnds only grate half as 
mach on the ears of others as they do on 
miney they had little to boast of on that 

The Saxons were merely continentals 
living in England, and their literature 
partook of the continental character, bnt 
with less of the more refined ideas of 
France, and Spain, and Italy, than the 
pecnliar absurdities of the remains of 
^Scandinavian superstition— the source from 
which we derive our traditions of witches 
riding on broomsticks, and fairies stealing 
lovely babies and leaving their own brats 
in their place. The Normans were French, 
but French abont the farthest removed 
from refinement ; and consequently their 
literatore was meagre in the same ratio. 

In the jumble of races, and conflict for 
prepcmderance, the language of the Sax- 
ons, tiiongh considerably modified by be- 
ing introdnced into such miscellaneous 
society, maintained its supremacy. But it 
was so clouted and coboled that it bore 
bnt little resemblance, as spoken and writ- 
ten in England, to the purer language 
from whence it sprung. It was a mere 
conglomerate ; and to turn such a medley 
to the purposes of Poetry seemed perfectly 
hopeless. The construction of Uie Qrecian 
Epic, or the Grecian Ode, was like chisel- 
ing from Parian marble, in all the ele- 
gance of Corinthian Architecture, a pal- 
ace for the Gods ; or with still nicer touch, 
a statue of the Medicean Venus. To make 
any sort of doggerel out of such grotesque 
material, was uke attempting to do the 
latter oat of granite. It is true, the good 
folks of Aberdeen, my native city, proba- 
bly oat of respect for one of their staple 
prodoctions, have erected such an eques- 
trian statne of ''the last Duke of Gordon." 
But inatead of exhibiting the exact lines 
and graces of his Grace's features, as seen 
at the festive board, where with the bril- 
liancy of his wit and drollery, like Ham- 
let's X orrick, " he kept the table in a roar." 
he sits a perpetual monument of their fol- 
ly, in pock-pitted deformity. How could 
we suppose that Chaucer, the earliest of 
any note who undertook the task, should 
have been able to do more than show to 
the world, that he was possessed of talents 
which no perversity of circumstances con- 

The next great poet who courted the 
Englirii muse was Spenser, who seems to 
have aimed at forming a sort of minor 

mythology of his own, more especially 
suited for Christian curiosity. His Muse 
is Allegory, and the virtues and vices are 
by him introduced more unscrupulously 
than were the Gods of the Greeks, by their 
poets. But his poem, though quaint and 
sometimes elegant, labors under the objec- 
tion, Uiat the character of his dranuUis 
peraonce being subordinate, renders it im- 
possible to make them other than " dii mi- 
norum gentium." This prime blunder ne- 
cessarily prevents the legitimate soarings 
of his Muse; and we regret that the invent- 
or of Uiat particular stanza which bears his 
name, which has been used with greater 
success by Thomson in his Castle of In- 
dolence, and Beattie in his Minstrel, and 
latterly so triumphantly in Childe Harold, 
shonla not have turned his rare talents in 
a different direction. 

The productions of Chaucer and Spen- 
ser perspicuously show the composition of 
Poetry under difficulties, rather than the 
subjection of those difficulties in the lan- 
guage (which were all but insuperable) so 
as to free it from its encumbrances and 
defects, and make it the pliant servant of 
so graceful a mistress. It was not to such 
means that the English language owed 
principally its escape from barbarism. If 
bxe Reformation followed fast at the heels 
of the invention of printing, the Reforma- 
tion, in its turn, was the immediate pre- 
cursor of an improvement of '' the vulgar 
tongue," produced by ordinary means. 
During the earlier times of English His- 
tory, the language of the people was not 
the written language of the learned. The 
Church was confined in her services to the 
use of Latin, which was also the language 
used by learned men in their composi- 
tions ; and though after the Norman con- 
quest the mongrel Saxon of the people 
was too securely rooted to be subdued, not 
only was the influence of the court used 
in &vor of the language of the invaders, 
but in some instances its use was enforced 
by special enaotment But afier the Re- 
formation, the language of the learned and 
of the people became Uie same ; and the 
Book of Common Prayer, which was the 
composition of the most learned men of 
the oay, being used in the morning and 
evening service of every church in the 
land, was an example of pure, plain, and 
elegant English, inch as no production 
which as yet had been placed before the 
public had attained. 

In this interesting period, when the dis- 
encumbered langnagje, in all the vigor of 
joath| seemed only in want of some man 



of gentos to turn his attention to Poetry 
to render its beauties perfect, Shakspeare 
was born and educated — tban whom, by 
universal consent, no country ever had a 
greater. If we look at the extent of his 
capabilities we are bound to admit it ; but 
if we take perfection in any particular 
play, or the depicturing of any particular 
passion, as the rule by which we ought to 
try his talents, there might be found many 
who might have much to say in favor of 
other poets. The truth is, he was more 
the poet of Nature than of Art. He only 
toyed and trifled with his Muse. We feel 
conscioQs that he had strength in reserve 
for which he could not find employment, 
so rich and r^ady are his ideas on even 
the commonest subjects. 

When we take a retrospective view of 
poetical literature before the time of those 
prominent pioneers of English Poetry, we 
find, as in the ramifications of a family 
chart or tree, that of one age growing out 
of the former. We discover members of 
the same family, and lineal descendants of 
the same Grecian parentage, mingling and 
marrying among themselves, and occa- 
sionally with congenial mates of other 
origin, but still in every instance retaining 
the same family features, and traceable 
either on the father or mother side to the 
original stock. But in those three, we 
find an almost entire isolation, and a want 
of the family resemblance so distinguisha- 
ble among former poets. They stand as 
separate pyramids, each on his own basis. 
It is true, Spenser may have taken hints 
from other sources, ''where more was 
meant than met the ear,'' and Shakspeare 
may have read the plays of Sophocles, 
Euripides, and JBschylus, but he evidently 
never studied them. He found their sys- 
tem of imagery unsuitable for the English 
stage, and consequently went to Nature, 
the source from which they also derived 
their inspiration. But this is not the way 
in which either Science or Literature gen- 
erally progresses. It is by the great men 
of one age adding something to the great 
men of former ages that mankind ad- 
vances. The circumstances in which 
Shakspeare was placed rendered it almost 
impossible for him to do otherwise than he 
did ; and besides, he had the irresistible 
impulse of such an excess of originality of 
thought to plead, that it ought to exclude 
him from ordinary obligations. Whether, 
if he had been a more learned man, and 
had sought '* to climb Parnassus by dint 
of Greek,*' the world would have been a 
gainer, it is hard to say. What it might 

have gained by his having more learning, 
it might have been deprived of by his 
havin j^ less of Nature, in Poetry, aa in 
the domgs of Deity, we ma^ admit (where 
it is genuine) the dictum of Pope — " what- 
ever is, is right." But if he was a poet 
out of the common order, he does not ex- 
actly belong to those to whom I intend 
more especially to refer, as lineal descend- 
ants of those first in favor with the Muses, 
and who in fact its well as figuratively 
dwelt around Parnassus, and drank occa- 
sionally from the real, as well as ideal 
fountain of Gastalia. . Besides his is too 
conspicuously an every-body*s book, and 
his merit too generally acknowledged, to 
re<}uire any critical examination of his 



Br w. H. n. 

Am maay CallfonlMW art B«t vlthla lomad «f th« *' ok«itib> 
going tMll," the foUowlng maj aDiweria pUe* of* i 


. I. 

It is the morn, the bright exultant morn, 
And God's own hallowed day of auiet rest j 
The rloriooa sun has with the early dawn 
Dispelled all vapours from the mountain's crest ( 
So may all sin and sorrow be withdrawn. 
And my freed spirit be supremely blest 
With that sweet peace, pure as the skies above, 
Bathing the world in God's eternal love. 


Best day, in which our bodies rest from toil, 
Blest day* in which our souls aspire to heaven } 
Now let the seed be sown on goodly soil, 
The seed that Christ the hnslmndmaa has civen. 
And watered from the fount of tn^h, to foil 
The enemy who flnom the first has striven 
To mingle there the noisome weeds and tares. 
And choke the golden grain with passion's fear- 
ful snares. 


Why should our soula be filled with doubt and 

Or man feel anxious in his present »tate 7 
Js not the Almirhty Father ever near 
Each child of His, and watching o'er his fate 
With an aflfeetion deeper and more dear 
"Than purest earthly love can e'er create? 
Will He, who feeds the ravens of the air, 
Not make His ofispriog His peculiar care T 


Then let thy soul rise to the Eternal One, 
And let thy heart its grateful praises pour 
To Him. whose goodness bathes thee, as the son 
Bathes tne aspinng eagles as they soar ; 
And say. " Our Father, may thy will be done 
On this thy earth now and for evermore f* 
Then shafi thy spirit dwell in heavenly peace. 
And all its cares and bitter sorrows oease* 




If, Kka the prodin), tfav wandering feet 
Have from thy Fatlier^ boiue eooe far astray, 
And wafted (Ly high heritage, 'tis meet, 
Repentant, humbled in the dust, to lay 
Thy head and cry, " I've sinned and should not 

Thee as ny Father ; let me now, I pray. 
Be M thy servant, which gives greater joy 
Than sinful pleasures that my soul destroy/' 


Then will that Father meet thee with a kis8 

Far off, rejoicing that His son is found 

That onee was Tost— lo«t ! aye, much more than 

Was dead and is alive again ; — around 
Let all rejoice, and in the general bliss - 
Shall all partake ; now let the feast abound, 
Bring forth the fatted calf, the robe, the ring ;^ 
S$Qcb Joys in heaven repentant sinners bring. 


When from our earthly homes afar we stray, 
Where aaxious loved ones wut for our return. 
O. happy, more than happy is the day 
\^ herein we meet, and clasp the hearts that burn 
With pore affection's flame, can the tongue say 
How sweet that bliss which fills love's sacred urn ; 
Bet purer joys are filling all the skies 
When the repentant says, " I will arise." 


It is the noon, the Sabbath's holy noon, 
The sua has reached the zenith of bis power, 
The golden threads of day will shorten soon, 
Adows the glowing sky, as hour by hour 
Sol's chariot descends, until the moon. 
Rising, reflects the beautv of his power : 
Tims from each soul where dwells God's holy 


Re§eeted rays shall beam serenely bright. 


The day is passinr like our lives away, 
O, who ean stay the fljf ing steps of time ! 
There's aaogfat can claim a moment's short delay; 
O'er all the earth, in every varied clime, 
Tn ever flowing, and in vain we pray 
For a respite, our throbbinr hearts but chime 
Each nKMnent's death^kaelf, ne'er again to be, 
Till time is swallowed in eternity. 


Why sbonld we mourn that time so quickly flies 7 
Hw shortest life is all too long for sin, 
And if oar virtues fit us for the skies, 
Throagh death a blest eternity we win, 
Where the immortal spirit never dies, 
And all ow joys celestial then becin. 
In our good Father's mansions ofthe blest. 
Where his sweet peace shall give theVeary rest. 


There, shall no bitter tears from sorrow flow, 
Tnere, shall the troublings'of the wicked cease, 
There, shad be no more toil, nor strife, nor woe, 
There, shall the bond and free find a release 
Froaa all oppression, their jost God will show 
There no respect of persons, and increase 

The bliss of all his suffering saints of earth, 
Whose cruel wrongs could not crush out their 


O, who would wish to live this life again, 
To clothe our bodies, eat and toil and rest^ 
Alternate hopes and fears, and joy and pam, 
Rise from the passions in each human breast ; 
Immortal longmgs tell tu all is vain. 
It is not in our nature here to rest. 
Content with any thing this earth can give- 
Centered in God alone the soul must liye. 


Then let our highest thoughts to him aspire. 
And in his love our best affections bI6nd ; 
Our hearts shall find therein no vain desire. 
But one on which the purest joys attend ; 
Trusting in God, with a seraphic fire 
Our hearts shall burn and know he is the end, 
And consummation of all peace and joy, 
Which nothing transient ever can destroy. 


It is the Sabbath evening's quiet hour, 
The pensive moon with ner translucent sheen. 
Shines mildly down ; on every shrub and flower 
Her silvery light of love rests all serene ; 
Fair earth, thy heritaee is beauty's dawn. 
Wherein the smile of God is ever seen ; 
Sweet nature, God's creation sure thou art, 
Throbbing responsive to my loving heart. 


And ye bright stars amid the azure sky, 
Whose rays of beauty pierce the inmost soul. 
From the infinities ofspace on high, 
Where countless suns more counttess orbs control; 
How srand is your magnificence ! we try 
In vain to read your dread mysterious scroll, 
And turn with awe, subdued, Oil, God, to Thee, 
Whose presence fills this broad immensity. 


Once more, Oh, let us silently adore 
The eternal Father, midst his glories bright ; 
He formed this universe we see, and more 
Which we see not, and He reveals the light 
Of all his goodness, from that boundless shore, 
Unto our secret soul's deep inner si^ht, 
Where dwell those sweet affinities wnich bind 
Our own unto the great eternal mind. 


Great God, we seem as nothing in thy sight, 
But dust, a worm, yet we aspire to Tliee, 
Who art enthroned in the etnerial light. 
Of wisdom infinite ; and shall we ever see 
Thy bright effulgence, and with pure deKght 
Adore and praise Thee through eternity 7 
O, blissful thought, that we are thine alone, 
Formed in the image of the Eternal One. 


We are thy children here upon this earth, 
Of every nation, color, sect or creed, 
No matter what our station, name or birth, 
By Thee created, Thou the eternal seed 
From whence we 8prin|ir« and an eternal worth 
Dwells in each soul ; did not the Saviour bleed 
And die upon the accursed cross to save 
Such for an endless life beyond the grave 7 




Af^ifl the day is drawing^ to a close, 

Sweet day of peace and rest ; Father, to Thee 

My prayer asc'ends, before I seek repose ; 

Of wilt thoa ever condescend to be 

My strens;th and portion here^hy wisdom knows 

If aught 1 further need, and Thou wilt see 

That all is added» if I first, with meek 

And humble mind. Thy righteous kingdom seek. 


Once more, dear reader, must I say adieu ; 
Arain we part, but still I hope to greet 
Thee oft again m kindness, and renew 
My meditations, which I trust may meet 
A kindly welcome, and if but k few 
Pure kindred hearts to mine responsive beat, 
And find some pleasure in my Sabbath lay, 
Then not in vain I've spent this blessed day. 







I remained in San Francisco till the 
worst of the rainy season was over, when 
I determined to go and try my luck in the 
mines ; so, leaving: my valuables in charge 
of a friend in San Francisco, I equipped my- 
self in my worst suit of old clothes, and with 
my blankets slung over my shoulder. I put 
myself on board the 'steamer for Sacra- 

As we did not start till five o'clock in the 
afternooni we had not an opportunity of 
seeing very much of the scenery on the 
river. As lonff as daylight lasted, we were 
among smooth grassy hills and valleys, 
with but little brushwood, and only here 
and there a few stunted trees. Some of 
the valleys are exceedingly fertile, and all 
those sufficiently watered to render them 
available for cultivation had already been 
"taken up." 

We soon h6wever, left the hilly country 
behind us, and came upon the vast plains 
which extend the whole length of Califor- 
nia, bounded on one aide by the range of 
mountaimi which ran along the coast| and 

on the other side by the mountains which 
constitute the mining districts. Through 
these plains flow the Sacramento river, re* 
ceiving as tributaries' all the rivers flow- 
ing down from the mountains on either 


The steamer — which was a fair speci- 
men of the usual stvle of New Yorknver- 
boat — was crowded with passengers and 
merchandise. There were not berths for 
one-half the people on board ; and so, in 
company with many others, I lay down and 
slept very comfortably on the deck of the 
saloon till about three o'clock in the morn- 
ing, when we were awoke by the noise of 
letting off the steam on our arrival at Sac- 

One of not the least striking wonders of 
California was the number of these mag- 
nificent river steamboats which, even at 
that early period of its history, had steamed 
round Cape Horn from New York, and now, 
frlidine: alonir the Californa rivers at the 
rate of twenty-two miles an hour, afford- 
ing the same rapid and comfortable means 
of traveling, and sometimes at as cheap 
rates, as when they plied between New 
York and Albany. Every traveler in the 
United States has described the river 
steamboats ; suffice it to say here, that 
they lost none of their characteristics in 
California; and, looking at these long, 
white, narrow, two-story houses, floating 
apparently on nothing, so little of the hull 
or the boat appears above water, and show- 
ing none of the lines which, in a ship, con- 
vey an idea of buoyancy and power of re- 
sistance, but, on the contrary, suggesting 
only the idea of how easy it would be to 
smash them to pieces — ^following in imagi- 
nation these fragile-looking fabrics over 
the seventeen thousand miles of stormy 
ocean over which they had been brought 
in safety, one could not help feeling a de- 
gree of admiration and respect for the 
daring and skill of the men by whom such 
perilous undertakings had been accom- 
plished. In prepanng these steamboats 
for their long voyage to California, the 
lower story was strengthened with thick 
planking, and on the forward part of the 
deck was built a strong wedge-shaped 
screen, to break the force of the waves, 
which might otherwise wash the whole 
house overboard. They crept along the 
coast, having to touch at most of the ports 
on the way for fuel ; and pasing through 
the Straits of Magellan, they escaped to a 
certain extent the dangers of Cape Horn, 
although equal dangers might be enoonn- 
tered on any part of the voyage. 



But besides the questioD of nantical 
akiii and indiyidnal daring, as a commeiv 
cial imdertaking the sending of such 
Bteameis round to California was a very 
bold speculation. Their value in New 
York is about a hundred thousand dollars, 
and to take them round to San Francisco 
costs about thirty thousand more. Insur- 
ance is, of Goursci out of the question (I do 
not think 99 per cent would insure them in 
this country trom Dover to Calais); so the 
owners had to play a neck-or-nothing game. 
Their enterprise was in most cases duly 
rewarded. I only know of one instance — 
though doubtless others have occurred — in 
which such vessels did not get round in safe- 
tv : it WBS an old Long Island Sound boat ; 
skewaa rotton before ever she left New 
York, and foundered somewhere about the 
BermudaSi all hands on board escaping in 

The profits of the first few steamers 
which arrived out were of course enor- 
mous: but, after a while, competition 
was so keen, that for some time cabin fare 
between San Francisco and Sacramento 
wu oiily one dollar ; a ridiculously small 
sura to pay in any part of the world, for beiuf 
carried in such boats one hundred and 
twenty miles in six hours ; but in California 
at that time, the waees of the common deck 
hands on board those same boats were 
about a hundred dollars a-month ; and ten 
dollars were to the generality of men, a 
turn of much less consequence than ten 
ihillings are now. * 

Tbeae low iares did not last long, how- 
ever ; the owners of steamers came to an 
onderatanding, and the average rate of 
fiue from San Francisco to &cramento 
was from five to eight dollars. I have only 
slloded to the one-dollar fares for the pur- 
pose of giving an idea of the competition 
which existed in such a business as "steam- 
boating,'' which requires a large capital ; 
and from that it may be imagined what in- 
tense rivmhry there was among those en- 
gaged in less important lines of business, 
which engrossed their whole time and la- 
bour, and required the employment of all 
the means at their command. 

Loc^dnff at the map of California, it will 
be seen Uiat the "mines" occupy a long 
strip of mountainous country, which com- 
mences many miles to the eastward of San 
Franeisoo, and stretches northward several 
hundred miles. The Sacramento river run- 
ning parallel with the mines, the San Joa- 
quin joining it from the southward and 
etstwaid, ana the Feather river condnning 
a northward coarse from the Sacramento 

^-all of them being navigable — present 
the natural mesns of communication be* 
tween l^n Francisco and the '^mines.^' 
Accordingly, the city of Sacramento — 
about two hundred miles north of San Fran- 
cisco — sprang up as the dep6t for all the 
middle part c? the mines, with roads radi- 
ating from it across the plains to the vari- 
ous settlements in the mountains. In like 
manner the city of Mar^srille, being at 
the extreme northern point of navigation 
of the FeaU&er river, became the starting* 
place and the depOt for the mining dis- 
tricts in the northern section of the State ; 
and Stockton, named after Commodore 
Stockton, of the United States navy, who 
had command of the Pacific squadron dur- 
ing the Mexican war, being situated at the 
head of navigation of the San Joaquin, 
forms the intermediate station between San 
Francisco and all the '* southern mines. " 

Seeing the facilities that California thus 
present^ for inland navigation, it is not 
surprising that the Americans, so pre-emi- 
nent as they are in that branch of com- 
mercial enterprise, should so soon have 
taken advantage of them. But though 
the prospective profits were great, still the 
enormous risk attending the sending of 
steamboats round the Horn might have 
seemed sufficient to deter most men from 
entering into such a hazardous speculation. 
It must be remembered that many of these 
river steamboats were dispatched from 
New York, on an ocean voyage of seven- 
teen thousand miles, to a place of which 
one-half the world as yet even doubted the 
existence, and when people were looking 
up their atlases to see in what part of the 
world California was. The risk of taking 
a steamboat of this kind to what was then 
such an out-of-the-way part of the world, 
did not end with her arrival in San Fran- 
cisco by any means. The slightest acci- 
dent to her machinery, which there was at 
that time no possibility of repairing in 
California, or even the extreme fluctua- 
tions in the price of coal, might have ren- 
dered her at any moment so much useless 

In ocean navigation the same adventur- 
ous energy was manifest. Hardly had the 
news of the discovery of gold in Califor- 
nia been received in New York, when 
numbers of steamers were dispatched, at 
an expense equal to one-half their value, 
to take their place on the Pacific in form- 
ing a line between the United States and 
San Francisco via Panama ; so Uiat almost 
from the first commencement of the exist- 
ence of Caiifi>mta as a gold-bearing conn- 



try, BteamK^ommanication was established 
between New York and San Francisco, 
bringing the two places within twenty to 
twenty five days of each other. It is true 
the mail line had the advantage of a mail 
contract from the United States govern- 
ment ; but other lines, without such foster- 
ing influence, ran them close in competition 
forpublic patronage. 

Tne Americans are often accused of 
boasting — perhaps deservedly so ; but 
there certainly are many things in the his- 
tory of California of which we may be 
justly proud, having transformed her, as 
they did so suddenly, from a wilderness into 
a country in which most of the luxuries 
of life were procurable ; and a fair instance 
of the bold and prompt spirit of commer- 
cial enterprise by which this was accom- 
plished, was seen in the fact that, from the 
earliest days of her settlement, California 
had as good means of both ocean and in- 
land steam-communication as any of the 
oldest countries in the world. 

Sacramento City is next in size and im- 
portance to San Francisco. Many large 
commercial houses had there established 
their head-quarters, and imported direct 
from the Atlantic States. The river is nav- 
igable so far by vessels of six or eight 
hundred tons, and in the early days of Cal- 
ifornia, many ships cleared directly for 
Sacramento from the different ports on the 
Atlantic ; but as the course of trade by 
degrees found its proper channel, San 
Francisco became exclusively the empo- 
rium for the whole of California, and even 
at the time I write of, sea-going vessels 
were rarely seen so far in the interior of 
the country as Sacramento. 

The plains are but very little above the 
average level of the river, and a *^ levee " 
had been built along the front of the city 
eight or ten feet hi^, to save it from in- 
undation by the high waters of the rainy 
season. With the exception of a few blocks 
of brick buildings, the houses were all of 
wood, and had an unmistakably Yankee 
appearance, being all painted white turned 
up with green, and covered from top to 
bottom with enormous signs. 

The streets are wide, perfectly straight, 
and cross each other at right angles at 
equal distances, like the lines of latitude 
and longitude on a chart. The street no- 
menclature is unique — very democratic, 
inasmuch as it does not immortalise the 
names of prominent individuals — and ad- 
mirably adapted to such a rectangular 
city. The streets running pandlel with 
the river are numbered First, Second, 

Third street, and so on to in^ity, and the 
cross streets are designated by the letters 
of the alphabet. J street was the great 
central street, and was nearly a mile long ; 
so the reader may reckon the number of 
parallel streets on each side of it, and get 
an idea of the extent of the city. This sys- 
tem of lettering and numbering the streets 
was veiT convenient, as, the latitnde and 
longitude of a house being given, it could 
be found at once. A stranger could navi- 
gate all ovec the town without ever having 
to ask his way, as he could take an obser- 
vation for himself at the comer of every 

My stay in Sacramento on this occasion 
was limited to u few hours. I went to a 
large hotel, which was also the great stage- 
ing house ; and here I snoosed till about 
five o'clock, when, it being still quite dark, 
the whole house woke up into active life. 
About a hundred of us breakfasted by can- 
dlelight, and, going out into the bar*room 
while day was just dawnine, we found, 
turned out in front of the hotel, about four- 
and-twenty four-horse coaches, all bound 
for different places in the mines. The 
street was completely blocked up with them 
and crowds of men were taking their seats, 
while others were fortifying themselves for 
their journey at the bar. 

The coaches were of various kinds. 
Some were light-spring-wagons — mere ob- 
long boxes, with four or five seats placed 
across them; others were of the same 
build but bitter finished, and covered by 
an awning ; and there were also numbers 
of regular American stage-coaches, huge 
high-hung things which carry nine inside 
upon three seats, the middle of which is 
between the two doors. 

The place which I had intended should 
be the scene of my first mining exploits, 
was a village rejoicing in the suggestive 
appellation of Hangtown; designated, how- 
ever, in official documents as Placerville. 
It received its name of Hangtown while 
yet in its infancy from the number of 
malefactors who had there expiated their 
crimes at the hands of Judge Lynch. I 
soon found the stage for tlmt place — it 
happened to be one of the oblong boxes — 
and, pitching in my roll of blankets, I took 
my seat and lighted my pipe that I might 
the more fully enjoy the scene around me. 

And a scene it was, such as few parts of 
the world can show, and which would have 
gladdened the hearts of those who mourn 
over the degeneracy of the present age, 
and sigh for the good old days of stago- 
I coaches. 



Here, oerteinlT, the genuine old nudl- 
eomchf tiie guard with his tin horn, and the 
joUj dd ceachman with his red &ce, were 
not to be found ; but the horses were as 
good as ever galloped with her Majesty's 
mail. The teams were all head^ ue 
same way, and with their stages, four or 
fire abreast, occupied the whole of the 
wide street for a distance of sixty or sev- 
enty yards. The horses were restive, and 
pawingy and snorting, and kicking : and 
panengers were trying to navigate to their 
proper stages thxongn the labyrinth of 
wheels and horses, and firequently climbing 
over half-a-dozen waggons to shorten their 
ionmej. Grooms were standing at the 
leaders' heads, trying to keep them quiet, 
and the drivers were sitting on their boxes, 
or seata rather, for they scorn a high seat, 
and were swearing at each other in a verv 
shockiiig manner, as wheels got lockea, 
and waggons were backed into the teams 
behind uem, to the discomfiture of the 
passeDgers on the back seats, who found 
boraea' heads knocking the pipes out of 
their months. In the interms of their 
fittle private battles, the drivers were shout- 
ing to the crowds of passengers who loit- 
ered about the front of the hotel ; for there 
as elsewhere, people will wait till the last 
moment ; and though it is more comfort- 
able to sti than to stand, men like to enjoy 
their freedom as long as possible, before 
resigning all control over their motions, 
and cha^ng wUh their precious persons 
a coach or a train, on full cock, and ready 
to go off, and shoot them out upon some 
remote part of creation. 

On each wagon was painted the name of 
the place to which it ran ; the drivers were 
also beQowing it out to the crowd, and 
even among such confusion of coaches, a 
man oonld have no difficutly in finding the 
one lie wanted. One would have thought 
that the individual will and locomotive 
power of a man would be sufficient to start 
him on his journey ; but in this go-ahead 
ooontrr, people who had to go were not 
allowea to remain inert till the spirit moved 
tbsnn to go ; they had to be " hurried up ^ '' 
and €i the whole crowd of men who were 
standing about the hotel, or struggling 
through the maze of waggons, only one 
half were passen^rs, the rest were *' run- 
nen " lor the various stages, who were ex- 
bavsting all their persuasive eloouence in 
entreating the passengers to take their seats 
and go. They were all mixed up with the 
crowSy and each was exerting his lungs to 
&e stmost ** Now then, gentlemen, '* 
phoots one of them, "all aboard for Nevada 

City I Who's agoin ? only three seats left 
— ^tne last chance to-day for Nevada City — 
take you there in five hours. Who's there 
for Nevada City ? " Then catching sight 
of some man who betrays the very slignt- 
est appearance of helplessness, or of not 
knowing what he is about, he pounces upon 
him, saying "Nevada City, sir ?■-- this way 
— just in time," and seizing him by the 
arm, he drags him into the crowd of stages, 
and almost has him bundled into that for 
Nevada City before the poor devil can 
make it understood that it is Coloma he 
wants to go to, and not Nevada City. His 
captor then calls out to some one of his bro- 
ther runners who is collecting passengers 
fbr Coloma— *< Oh BiU ! oh Bill 1 where the 

are you ? " " Hullo I " says Bill, 

from the other end of the crowd. '* Here's 
a man for Coloma I" shouts the other, still 
holding on to his prize in case he should 
escape before Bill comes up to take charge 
of him. ' 

This sort of thing was going on all the 
time. It was very ridiculous. Apparent* 
ly, if a hundred men wanted to go any- 
where, it required a hundred more to de- 
spatch them. There was certainly no 
danger of any one being left behind ; on 
the contrary, the probability was, that any 
weak-minded man who happened to be 
passing by, would be shipped^ off to parts 
unknown before he could collect his ideas. 

There were few opposition stages, ex- 
cepting for Marysville, and one or two of 
the larger places ; they were all crammed 
fuU — ^and of what use these " runners " or 
** tooters" were to anybody, was not very 
apparent, at least to the uninitiated. But 
they are a common institution with the 
Amerieans, who are not ver^ likely to sup- 
port such a corps of men if'^ their services 
bring no return. In fact, it is merely a 
part of the American system of advertis- 
ing, and forcing the public to avail them- 
selves of certain opportunities, by repeat- 
edly and pertinaciously representing to 
them thattney have it in their power to do 
so. In the States, to blow ^our own horn, 
and to make as much noise as possible 
with it, is the fundamental principle of all 
business. The most eminent lawyers and 
doctors advertise, and the names of the 
first merchants appear in the newspapers 
every day. A man's own personal exer^ 
tions are not sufficient to keep the world 
aware of his existence, and witoout adver- 
tising he would be to all intents and pur- 
poses dead. Mo i est merit does not wait 
for its reward — it is ratiier too smart for 



that — it clamoors for it, and consequentlj 
gets it all the sooner. 

Howeyer, I was not thinking of this 
while sitting on the Hangtown stage. I 
had too mnch to look at, and some of my 
neighbours also took my attention. I found 
seated around me a yaried assortment of 
human nature. A New-Yorker, a Yankee, 
and an English Jack-tar were my immedi- 
ate neighbours, and a general conyersation 
helped to beguile the time till the *^ run- 
ners " had succeeded in placing a passen- 
ger upon eyery ayailable spot of eyery 
wagon. There was no trouble about lug- 
gage — ^that is an article not much known 
m California. Some stray indiyiduals 
might haye had a small carpet-bag — ^al- 
most eyery man had his blankets — and the 
western men were further encumbered 
with their long rifles, the barrels ppking 
into eyerybody's eyes, and the buts in the 
way of eyery body's toes. 

At last the solid mass of four-horse coach* 
es began to dissolye. The driyers gather- 
ed up their reins and settled themselyes 
down in their seats, and cracked their 
whips, and swore at their horses; the 
grooms cleared out the best way they could; 
me passengers shouted and hurraed ; the 
teams in front set off at a gallop ; the rest 
followed them as soon as l£ey got room to 
start, and cheyied them up the street, all 
in a body, for about half a mile, when, as 
soon as we got out of town, we spread out 
in all directions to eyery point of a semicir- 
cle, and in a few minutes I found myself 
one of a small isolated community, with 
which four splendid horses were galloping 
oyer the plains like mad. No hedges, no 
ditches, no houses, no road in fact — it 
was all a yast open plain, as smooth as a 
calm ocean. \Ve might haye been steer- 
ing by compass, and it was like going to 
sea ; for we emerged from the city as from 
a land-locked harbour, and followed our 
own course oyer the wide wide world. 
The transition from the confinement of the 
city to the yastness of space was instanta- 
neous ; and our late neighbours, rapidly di- 
minishing around us, and geting hull down 
on the horizon, might haye been bound 
for the uttermost parts of the earth, for all 
we could see what was to stop them. 

To sit behind four horses tearing along 
a good road is delightful at any time, but 
the mere fact of such rapid locomotion 
formed only a small part of the pleasure 
of our journey. 

The atmosphere was so soft and balmy 
that it was a positiye enjoyment to feel it 
brushing oyer one's face like the finest floss 

silk. The sky was dear and cloudless, 
the bright sunshine warming us up to a 
comfortable temperature ; and we were 
trayelling oyer such an expanse of nature 
that our progress, rapid as it was, seemed 
hardly perceptible, unless measured by the 
fast disappearing chimney tops of ihe city, 
or by the occasional clumps of trees we 
left behind us. The scene all round us 
was magnificent, and impressed one as 
much with his own insignificance as 
though he beheld the countries of the earth 
from the summit of a high mountain. 

Out of sight of land at sea one experi- 
ences a certain feeling of isolation: there 
is nothing to connect one's ideas with the 
habitable globe but the ship on which one 
stands ; but there is also nothing to carry 
the imagination beyond what one does see, 
and the yiew is limited to a few miles. 
But here, we were upon an ocean of grass- 
coyered earth, dottea with trees, and spark- 
ling in the sunshine with the gorgeous hues 
of Qie dense patches of wild flowers ; while 
far beyond the horizon of the plains there 
rose mountains beyond mountains, all so 
distinctly seen as to leaye no uncertainty 
as to the shape or the relatiye position of 
any one of them, and &ding away in regu- 
lar gradation till the most distinct, though 
clearly defined, seemed still to be the most 
natural and satisfactory point a^ which the 
yiew should terminate. It was as if the 
circumference of the earth had been lifted 
up to the utmost range of yision, and there 
melted into air. 

Such was the yiew ahead of us as we 
trayelled towards the mines, where wayy 
outlines of mountains appeared one above 
another, drawing together as they yanish* 
ed, and at last indenting the sky with the 
snowy peaks of the Sierra Neyada. On 
either side of us the mountains, appearing 
aboye the horizon, were hundreds of miles 
distant, and the yiew behind us was more 
abruptly terminated by the coast range, 
which lies between the Sacramento river 
and the Pacific. 

It was the commencement of spring, and 
at that season the plains are seen to auvan- 
ti&ge. But after a few weeks of dry weath- 
er the hot sun bums up eyery blade of 
yegetation, the ground presents a cracked 
surface of hard-baked earth, and the roads 
are ankle-deep in the finest and most pene- 
trating kind of dust, which rises in clouds 
like clouds of smoke, saturating one's 
clothes, and impregnating one's whole 

We made a straight course of it across 
the plains for about thirty miles, changing 



horaei ooMaonftUy at some of tlie nn- 
merovf wsyside inns, and passing numbers 
of vmggona drawn by teams of six or eight 
mules or oxen, and laden with supplies for 
the mines. 

The ascent from the plains was very 
gradnal, over a hilly country, well wooded 
with oaks and pines. Our pace here was 
not so killing as it had been. We had fre- 
qoentlj lone hills to climb, where all hands 
were obUged to get out and walk; but we 
made up for the delay by galloping down 
the descent on the other side. 

The road, which, though in some places 
very nmrrow, for the most part spread out 
to two or three times the width of an ordi- 
nary road, was covered with stumps and 
large rocks ; it was fnU of deep ruts and 
hoUows, and roots of trees spread all over 

To any one not used to such roads or to 
such driTingi an upset would have seemed 
incTitable. If there was safety in speed, 
howeyer, we were safe enough, and all 
sense of danger was lost in admiration of 
the coolness and dexterity of the driver as 
he circnmyented every obstacle, but with- 
out going one inch farther than was neces- 
sary ont of his way to save us from perdi- 
tion. He went through eztraodinary bodi- 
ly contortions, which would have shocked 
an English coachman out of his propriety ; 
bttty at the same time, he performed such 
feats as no one would have dared to at- 
tempt who had never been used to any- 
thing worse than an English road. Wiu 
his right foot he managed a break, and, 
clawing at the reins with both hands, he 
ffwayea his body from side to side to pre- 
serve his equilibrium, as now on the right 
pair of wheels, now on the left, he cut the 
'^ootside edge" round a stump or a rock ; 
and when coming to a spot where he was 
going to execnte a difficult manoeuvre on a 
piece of road which slanted violently down 
to one side, he trimmed the waggon as one 
would a small boat in a squall, and made us 
all crowd np to the weather side to prevent 

Whaa aboot ten miles from the plains, I 
first saw the actual reality of gold-diggiug. 
Fonr or five men were working in a ravine 
by the roadside, digging holes like so many 
grave diggers. I then considered myself 
fidriy in '' the mines,^' and experienced 
a disagreeable consciousness that we might 
be passing over huge masses of gold, only 
eooeealed from us by an inch or two of 

Aa we traveled onwards, we passed at 
numerous parties of miners, and 

the country assumed a more inhabited ap- 
pearance. Log-cabins and clap-boara 
shanties were to be seen among the trees ; 
and occasionally we found about a dozen 
of such houses grouned together by the 
roadside, and dignified with Uie name of a 

For several miles again the country 
would seem to have been deserted. That 
it had once been a busy scene was evident 
from the uptorn earth in the ravines and 
hollows, and from the numbers of unoccu- 
pied cabins ; but the cream of such dig- 
gings . had already been taken, and they 
were not now sumcienUy rich to suit the 
ambitious ideas of the miners. 

After traveling about thirty miles over 
this mountainous region, ascending grad- 
ually all the while, we arrived at Hang- 
town in the afternoon, having accomplish- 
ed the fifty miles from Sacramento city 
in about eight hours. 



Thou hast risen like a meteor, 

On the wide Pacific's shore ; 
Where for ages but the Indian 

Listened to its solemn roar. 

Like a meteor, thou hast risen ; 

But unlike thou shalt not fall, 
Only when a wise Creator, 

Overwhelms with ruin, all. 

As if by a Genii's power, 

Palaces at once arise, 
Vessels crowd thy glorious Harbor, 

Church-spires pomt up to the skies. 

Gold and jewels without measure. 
Fruits and flowers most prized and rare. 

Can be bad by working for them, — 
Are rewards of toil and care. 

Those who idly stand and wonder, 
They will meet the dreamer's fate ; 

See the substance flit before them, 
Know and grasp when far too late. 

Here the man of birth and station, 

Finds successful by his side, 
Those whom elsewhere he would shrink ft'ora, 

Those whom he would else deride. 

But he dares not — ^work is noble. 

And to toil, is not to sin ; 
For the man who ranks the highest 

Is the one who works to win. ANnRKAS. 

— — ^■^— ^.— ^^— ^^^^— <w»" -I ■ ^ » ■■ - ^^^—^1^—^—^—. 

The young lady who *^ caught a cold " 
has, we learn, decided to retain it for 
'^home coTuumption" 




Jump in — only a shilling from North. 
Beach* to Rincon Point — ^the whole 
length of the city : twelve tickets for 
n dollar. Gentlemen^ jump in — ^make 
Way for the ladies — and, bless me ! do 
crowd closer for the babies.' One, two, 
three, four! actually seven of these 
dear little humanities. Here we go, 
right through Stockton Street. Four 
years ago this was one long level of 
mud in the rainy season — ^not such a 
luxury as an omnibus thought of. — 
Tramp went the pedestrian the length 
and breadth thereof, thankful for side- 
Walks. But now note the handsome 
private residences, the neat flower gar- 
dens, the fruit stands, the elegant stores 
in Virginia Block, the display in the 
windows both sides the way — dry goods, 
toys, stationery, tin ware, &c., &c. 

But let us get in at the starting 
point.. Leaving the promenade which 
makes ^eiggs' wharf so pleasant of a 
summer morning, we step into one of 
the coaches, which are ready every 
eight minutes, according to the adver- 
tisement ; run along Powell street a 
few squares, catching glimpses here and 
there of the greatest variety of archi- 
tecture in the residences, and remarking 
upon the neatness of those recently 
erected; thence down a square into 
Stockton street, where the attention is 
distracted between the outside prospect 
and the protection of one's own limbs 
from the fearful thumping into divers 
holes which the ponderous vehicle en- 
counters every few minutes. 

Steady now — ^we have passed the 
worst part, and there is the State Ma- 
rine Hospital, — quite a respectable 
amount of brick and mortar, patched 
at the rear with appurtenances of lum- 
ber, and which in its time haa used up 
more ^^appropriations" than would com- 
fortably have supported three times the 
number of sick within its walls. It 
is at present in the hands of the Sisters 
of Mercy. 

There I make room for the lady in 
^loops! only a shilling for all that 

whalebone ! so now — ^let out the thin 
spare man, he fears suffocation — and 
the nervous gentleman too wants to 
alight; that hSbj has whooping cough, 
and annoys him. Poor bachelor! he 
cannot begin to comprehend infantile 
graces, and he votes the whole race a 
bore ; while glancing satirically at the 
lady, he observes to his friend, the 
spare man, '^ Poor little sufferer, how 
it TiocpsJ' 

Bows of pretty cottages on one side 
the street — ^handsome brick buildings 
on the other — and at the comer of 
Stockton and Washington,' a private 
garden laid out with exquisite taste and 
neatness. A refreshing fountain sends 
its spray over the blossoms of the sweet 
roses and verbena, while the graceful 
malva trees stand sentinel at the gate- 
way. Only a passing glance, however, 
for the turn is accompluhed, and down 
Washington street to Montgomeiy is 
generally a pretty rapid descent. 

That is afamily market near the comer 
of Washington— quite convenient these 
— the nicest of vegetables, the best of 
meats, procurable at market prices. 
We up-towners could scarcely dispense 
with them. Past the Plaza — ^how well 
I remember that formerly as a recepta- 
cle for old clothes, cast off boots and 
shoes, cans, bottles, crockery ware, 
skeleton specimens of the feline race — 
dogs who had had their day — ^rats 
whose race was run, and various other 
abominations ; but a treasure heap to 
the rag pickers, or bottle venders, who 
in those days were not. But now the 
Plaza has been smoothed into shape, 
and if the green things within its bor- 
ders are perfected by sun and rain, it 
may yet flourish into grace and beauty. 

Montgomery street — ^look down the 
long avenue. Where can be fbund 
more substantial edifices ? more elegftnt 
stores? a gayer promenade? Hand- 
somely dressed ladies — gentlemen of 
business — ^gentlemen of leisure — ^me* 
chanics — laborers —children — ^throng* 
ing the side-walks ; glitter, and show, 
and wealth in the windows; equipages, 
omnibusses, horsemen^ in the streets. 



Hundreds of human beings passing and 
repassing in an hour^ and from almost 
eveiy nation nnder hearen. 

The Frenchman with his '' bon soir" 
greets yon ; the Spaniard and Italian, 
the Chinese, German, Mexican. The 
rose, the thistle, and shamrock have 
each their representatives, and beside 
these many others bom in remote re- 
cnons are congregated in this great 
thoroughfare of cities. 

Past the fancifully arranged drug 
storea; past the tempting exhibitions 
of jewelry ; paat the attractiye displays 
of dry goods, book and stationery es- 
tablishments, banking houses, express 
buildings, lawyers' offices, and here we 
are, taming into Second street. Whirl- 
ing by the Metropolitan market, we 
drive down as far as Folsom street, and 
obeerye that the neat cottages in this 
part of the city have a more raral as- 
pect than those in locations nearer to 
DUfliness. A tree is seen here and 
there, and vines clamber over the 
porches, and droop over the windows. 
At the comer of Second and Folsom a 
garden in luxurious bloom refreshes the 
sight, and the questioning stranger in 
the 'bus is informed that the house 
and grounds were formerly owned, and 
were the residence of the late Captain 
Folaom, whose remains now lie in Lone 
MoontaiQ Cemetery. 

Adjoining this, on Folsom street, is 
another stately private residence — 
another lovely garden, where luxuriant 
flower growths may be seen at almost 
any season of the year. Nearly oppo- 
site is Hawthorne street. Ah ! what 
associations of '' Seven Oabled Houses '' 
are oonnected with that name. But 
the eye rests upon none such— K>nly a 
line of pretty cottages are peeped at 
ere we are driven past into Third street. 

Another long avenue — grocery, dry 
goods, fmit, market— ever-recurring 
reminders that humanity has number- 
leas wants, and that, for a golden boon, 
the nipi^ i^ always equal to the de- 
mand. There are few handsome resi- 
dences on Third, but many comfortable 
looking ones. 

South Park — a passenger stops. — 
There is a homelike appearance in this 
solitary row of uniform houses, charm- 
ing to one who recalls images of long 
streets, whose " white marble ste^"^ 
have no parallel in San Francisco, ^ut 
beyond us is Rincon Point — ^and in 
view of the blue waters, the omnibus 
stops. Nurses and babies alight, and 
the inquiring passenger strolls, where? 
Perhaps I may tell you in my next. 

H. Ti* N. 


BY DB. n- 


'* My SOD, if you would have honor and 
happiness in this world, get wealth," were 
the last words of my father. He left noth- 
ing conveying aught of information respect- 
ing his family, country, or pursuits, any 
more than what the most friendless orphan 
ever knew of his parantage. My earlieAt re- 
collections were of the school from which I 
was suddenly callc-d to the bedside of his 
death. The people of the hotel where he 
died, could give me no information of him, 
other than that his name was Hardwood, 
that he had spent one day at New York 
for a number of years, for the purpose, as it 
was supposed, of receiving his rents, and 
that he went just as noiselessly as he came. 

The notary who attended his last bedside 

Eut into my hands a document, after he 
ad arranged the last rites that conveyed 
him to his ever-solemn rest, showing that I, 
then a mere lad, was entitled to the un- 
controlled possession of $8000 per annum. 
My utmost knowledge of him was concen- 
trated in the small space of barely five 
minutes on those occasions at this hotel, 
when the usual questions he put to me 
were, *^ How much of the money I gave 
you last have you spent? Show it me." 
nhich savings he invariably doubled, ac- 
companying the act with encomiums on 
my seli-command and forbearance, and 
prognostications of my becoming one day 
a greater man than my grandfather. But 
who this grandfather was, whether any de- 
scendant of Croesus the Little, or Alexan- 
der the Great, to this day I have no clue. 
It may well be supposed that this, my 
father's manner,influenced all my thoughts, 
words, and actions. His first impetus of 
doubling my savings suggested to me to 
set myself up as a usurer, or money-lender 
to the scholars of my school. The power 



this gave me amonp^t them — ^they num- 
bered some hundred and fifty — ^was almost 
incredible. I conducted my craft so art- 
fully as to defy the keenest vigilance and 
perceptive power of the teachers. Tear 
after year brought complaint after com- 
plaint from the parents of the pupils, that 
their sons were always without a dime in 
their pockets, and were always craving 
money from their friends, to satisfy their 
supernumerary wants. The income this 
office — ^if I may so dignify it — procured 
me was something very considerable for a 
lad, and yet so wary was I, that no one 
suspected me of being even passably rich. 
I passed as a careful, economical fellow, 
but nothing more ; and my apparent gen- 
erosity in forgiving a debt when I had no 
Srospect of receiving further instalments 
'om it, earned me tne praise of being a 
liberal, good fellow. My &ther had known 
nothing of these proceedings, as I feared 
his stem anger, he being well aware that 
acts of usury, borrowing or lending, were 
amongst the prohibitions of the institution. 
Three months did not elapse after I had 
left the college, before I was enga^d in a 
partnership concern, for which Ipaid down 
the hard sum of $60,000. I knew that it 
was a first-rate concern, and had enriched 
the two preceding partners in an extraor- 
dinarily short space of time. I examined 
the books with a keen eye, and found, to 
my delight, that a sure and ample fortune 
in a few short years lay before me. But 
my father's advice — " Get it " — prompted 
me 'and haunted me like a demon ; and 
cent per cent, was no way adequate to its 
demand. I breathed no other atmosphere 
than my counting-house, and took no other 
pleasure than poring over my cash-book. 
My partner, in time, seeing my close appli- 
cation to business, threw ofif all restraints 
that the business imposed upon him, and 
became, in a short time, a confirmed vo- 
luptuary. It was then I saw my time was 
come to act alone ; to cast him ofi^, and 
engross the whole sphere of our enormous 
profits. Ruminating over the future, one 
night, alone — it was dead midnight — the 
thought struck me that by one act I might 
get nd of him, and yet secure the amount 
of his share of the capital. I laid my 
plans accordingly, as I supposed, and in 
due time the newspapers had to record as 
foul and barbarous a murder and robbery 
as ever disgraced the annals of crime, ex- 
tensive as the pages of the lamentable 
catalogue may be. His aged mother, and 
only relative, received from my hands most 
thankfully an annuity of as many tens, as 

his income had been tens of thousands, al- 
most, and the world resounded with this 
deed of cluurity. So far well, thought I ; 
and now my fiither's dying precept was to 
be realized : '^ If you would have honor 
and happiness in this world, ^et wealth." 
The honors came rushing in with full tide, 
but the happiness — alasl where was the 
smallest particle of it ? Although I was 
too old a practitioner in deceit to be caught 
in any fit of abstraction of thought, yet, at 
night, when all the busy world around was 
in sweet repose, mv thoughts gave me no 
peace ; the hell within forbade my heart 
to cease aching, even while the demands 
of nature pressed heavily on my eyelids. 
My dreams were constant of my mther : 
at one time he would assume the appear 

ance of 

'' The shadow of a fallen angel ', " 

then another would cry, " Sieze on him, 
Furies -, take him to vour torments : " 
when my father's horrible shadow would 
exclaim, '^ Not so ; he is not rich enough. 
Spare him. This world full of riches, and 

then " I would awake and comfort 

myself that if there were a hereafter, on 
him would be my curse. 

I had now become half a millionaire ; 
the other half remained to be accomplished. 
As yet no human being suspected my in- 
tegrity, and if I remained but true to my- 
self, my ambition would be gratified. As 
time wore on, I comforted myself with the 
comparison that great heroes could be 
charged with the murder of thousands, 
while I was only the hero of one ; and this 
idea led me on to one of the greatest events 
of my immolating life — ^that of destroying, 
by wholesale, every friend that I had. 

The Pelican Life Insurance Company, 
which I had established, soon became the 
first of all such enterprises. My most in- 
timate friends, when they saw the capital I 
had assigned to it with my own hanas, so- 
licited loans from me in all directions, du- 
ring an unparalleled time of panic. I held 
their policies, and soon six of the greatest 
capitalists of New York joined me in the 
direction. On such easy terms did I giant 
them, that the institution became soon 
world-renowned, and my management wbs 
so meritorious that the rich shareholders 
and the needy loaners joined in one unan- 
imous vote to give me a banquet to cele- 
brate the occasion, and to present me inth 
a gorgeous service of plate to perpetuate 
it. I took care that all whose policies I 
held should be present, and made arrange- 
ments beforehand to effect my purpose 



The lioiir was come — the banquet over — 
the flagon, the most costly piece of serrice; 
«aa presented to me, filled with the treach- 
erous wine. This was no other than the most 
cosUt Monssac, from the cellar of Messrs. 
♦ ♦ * *, of * * *, to which I, in common 
with many other wine jndeers and tasters, 
as a i^reat compliment had free access. I 
had noticed months before a particular 
cask bearing a high price and had selected 
it for some such occasion. I was a whole 
jear or more watching an opportunity, and 
at last succeeded, when no human eye was 
upon me, of pouring in a subtle poison that 
requires only a little time to mellow itself 
with the wine, and to produce its certain 
deadly effect. 

I repeat, the flagon filled with this wine, 
was presented to me as the loving cup to 
drink of, and to invite those present to join. 

Withont the smallest trepidation of voice 
or hand, or eye, I took the cup, made an 
eloquent speech and raised it to my lips : and 
after keepine it there awhile opening and 
shntdog my laws, but with my lips pressed 
tight to the brim so that not a drop could 
pass into mv mouth ; (I had well practised 
this feat beforehand.) I pledged tnem thus 
heartily, and the fatal cup was passed round 
and dnink to the veiy aregs. A kind of 
drunken phrensy which is pecular to the 
poison I nad used (a preparation of aconi- 
tina* with ascnnge) ensued, which soon 
broke up the companv and I retired to ray 
bed — ^wul the reaaer oelieve it — congratu- 
lating myself upon this mud climacteric 
of my art. Conscience I had none. Be- 
oiane I had but once tasted, at the death 
of my partner. Fear I had oxily for spectral 

K* enomena. Shame — it left me with my 

I w«at to my office next morning at my 
ossal time, and, as I expected, found no one 
there ; every clerk and porter in the office 
had been insnred, and i held their policies 
for amoonts varying from $1000 to $6000. 
Afleetiiig the greatest alarm and surprise, 
which, by sheer habit I knew so well how 
assome, I roused up the authorities and 
lOon the whole of * * * street. New York, 
was in oonstematton. The news spread like 
a prairie fire : eveiy one at the grand ban- 
quet the dav before had been poisoned ; not 
one escaped : and while expressing my 
sarprise at the circumstance before a mag- 
istrate, a friend whom illness only had 
detained, I thought it judicious suddenly to 
lose my senses, and fell down in a swoon, 
aad was taken home to my house in a litter, 
and as every body thought, dead. I thought 
proper to reoover after three days, aad by 


so doing, paved the way for a fortune to a 
young, inexperinced homoeopathic doctor ; 
and after the several examinations conse- 
quent upon a host of coroner's inquests, 
cleared, by this masterly stroke, sufficient 
to make up the sum that was to constitute 
me a millionaire. I now thought of retiring 
from the busy haunts of men, for the pur- 
pose of enjoying myself. I was respected 
by the poor, courted by the rich. My spec- 
tral friends melted away into thin air one 
after another, and conscience, even that fell 
tormentor which is said never to sleep, 
even granted me a truce. 

It was on the anniversary of m v father's 
death that I was sitting alone in the library 
of my splendid mansion, which had been 
just nnished, about eight o'clock in the 
evening, as near as I can guess ; the wind 
howled so long and loud thnt I could just 
.distinguish a knock at the front door, of 
such a sound as compelled me — why I do 
not know — to open it myself. I never can 
forget the sight of the picture the doorway 
presented. A man, half savage half de- 
mon, put into my hands a letter containing 
these words : — 

** Mr. Hordwod is formed that the riter 
is in session of a circumstance that will 
place a rope round your neck, but he will 
cept of a few thousand as hush money if 
paid without delay. The bearer is to be 
trusted with the first payment of one hun- 
dred dollars, and will give the dress of the 
riter ware I may be found if you come 

This time I could hardly conceal my 
emotion, but observing that the demon 
was watching my countenance, I replied, 
with a smile — " Contrary to mv first mten* 
tion, I will see the writer, and nere are the 
hundred dollars he demands." The fellow 
took up the money, let himself out of the 
front door, and departed without a word. 
I took up a dirty piece of paper over which 
he had placed his dirty shattered white hat 
when he first entered, and read, " 5 o'clock 
at Hanger's house Tuesday inquire for 
Lone Bob." Surely I knew somehow the 
hana-writing. It was really familiar with 
me. The day preceding this appointment, 
which I was resolved to keep, I was in a 
sea of perplexitv and perturbation. 

When the time came I set out, well 
armed. I had hastened to the appointed 
place ten minutes before the time, and 
something prompted me to enter a chapel 
just by. It was years since I entered any 
place of worship— in fact, when I was last 
at school. The minister was just giving 
out his text, which was from ■ > ** Be 



sure your sins will find yon ont." I was so 
engrossed in the impassioned eloquence of 
the divine that I conld not, despite the 
impending evil of neglecting my engage- 
ment, tear myself from him. In glowing 
colors he described the anguish of me once 
holy David, the man who in his youth God 
was pleased to choose as one after his own 
hearty but now a murderer before Nathan. 
Yet, said the blessed man, God foreave 
him all. 0, what consolation was that ! 
This shot through mv heart with such force 
as to lead me, bound hand and foot, to the 
purpose of disclosing, regardless of conse- 
quences, my whole guilt to him. I intro- 
duced myself to him in the vestrv, very 
briefly told him how his words haa found 
their way at once to my heart, and how 
my crimes stood out for God's vengeance. 
The divine looked upon me at first as a 
maniac, but when I told him who I was, 
and assured him of my sanity, he turned 
to me and said — '^ This is too important a 
confession to be entrusted to one ; I will 
introduce you to my Bishop, and you will 
have to abide by his decision." tfudge of 
my amazement when I found myself, on an 
introduction to him, in presence of my for- 
mer revered schoolmaster. 

« 'He that sheddeth man's blood, by man 
shall his blood be shed.' O, my son! are 
these the efifects of my teaching, this the 
result of your boyhood's promise ? 0, how 
vain have been all my labors I Unfortu- 
nate wretch !" said the venerable old man, 
wringing his hands in anguish, *^ 1 can only 
pray for your soul's life ; your body belongs 
to the outraged laws of your country.'' 

It was in vain that I solicited, on my 
knees, his prayers, his pardon, his forgive- 
ness. ''Not till you have delivered your- 
self into the hands of justice, as a murder- 
er,'' continued he, earnestly. " Then, and 
only then, my poor boy, can my poor 
prayers avail." 

There was no hope for it — ^my conscience 
was awakened, ana I thought, as there was 
no more peace for me in this world, 'twere 
better so. Then did I resign to him all — 
and then, only then, did I receive any re- 
lief from the stabbings of a guilty con- 

The important hour arrived — ^with a 
calm, firm step, resigned to my fate, did I 
walk behind tne old man, repeating, in a 
solemn tone, the impressive service of the 
burial of the dead — " / am the resurreeiian 
and the life" He gave me his last bles- 
sing, assured me of my free unconditional 
forgiveness of my Maker, as I had made 
all the reparation in my power, agreeable 

to his wishes. The rope was adjusted, the 
uglv white cap enclosed my devoted head, 
and the last signal was given, to withdraw 
the &tal bolt, that was to separate this life 
from eternity. I gave a convulsive start, 
and I was — ^no more— «sleep, bat broad 
awake — standing, bolt upright, in my bed, 
aroused by the thunderings of my house- 
keeper at my door, who had awakened me 
at this juncture. 

'* Mr. Goldspin, here is old Mr. Olden at 
the door, and has come to request the fa- 
vor of your withdrawing the attachment 
on his house and goods, and says, pray 
give him a week longer, and yon shall be 

*' Tell him directly," said I—*' he shaU 
have a year longer — ^I will come down to 
him and tell hun — no— yes — ^tell him I 
have heard something that has induced me 
to give him as much time as he pleases." 

This was my first blessed reform, and to 
show my gratitude to Almighty God for 
thus timely arousing me firom the destruc- 
tion of my soul, into which I was rapidly 
falling, that as my past endearors have 
been spent in following the advice of my 
worldly father respecting this world's 
wealth — ^get it, honestly if you can ; but 
get it — so shall it be my future endeavor 
to adopt that of my spiritual father, kindly 
visiting me in my dream — honesUy altoayt 
to get a for my own sake, and, for the sake 
of my poor fellow travders through this 
vx>rldf grateniUy and irreproachfuUy al- 
UHiys to SPEND IT. 


What name in the whole vocabulary of 
words can bring back the scenes of one's 
happy, joyous childhood, like the mention 
of that magic word — ^mother! How hard- 
ened and callous has that heart become, 
when that musical sounding word will not 
awaken the holiest sentiment of one's na- 
ture. Lingering around the bosom of 
love, the very tnought makes the heart 
flutter with delight, and my whole being 
thrills with feelings of ecstacy, veneration, 
love, and kindness. 

Oh I my mother I what a debt of grat- 
itude and boundless love I owe thee ; under 
how many deep and lasting obligations hast 
thou placed thy wayward child I And who 
like thee, in all this hollow- hearted world, 
hast joyed in my pleasure and sorrowed io 
mvwoe? No tender, counseling, admon- 
isnin^ voice has once fallen upon my ready 
ear with such a sweet melody and so rich 




a cadence aa thine own. Can I ever for- 
t how Tery often that maternal bosom 
pillowed thie achin/i^ head of mine? 
there sheltering the fragile form, the tender 
fledgeling, irom the keen blasts of disap- 
Dointment that have siace then swept with 
ntfol ^nsts aronnd the pathway of th^ eiring 
thonra not ungratefal child. Peering into 
the £stance, she then saw with a prophetic 
vision, the many temptations, allurements 
and iUa of life that awaited her child. 

Tears, yes, long years, have intervened 
since I last gazed upon that care-worn and 
dme-wrinkl^ face, yet I have not forgotten, 
through the mist of intervening years, thy 
gentlj chiding tone; love's guiding star is 
Btill m the ascendent, whoBQ beacon-light 
bnma as brightly upon the heart's altar as 
when my small lips first instinctively ar- 
ticulated that soul-thrilling, and holy word, 
Bother! And now, when &r away upon a 
distant ahore, basking beneath Caufomia's 
glorioos star-gemm^ skies, among her 
sons and daugnters of beauty and genius, 
the land of gold and flowers, I still re- 
member thee. And in the hush of night, 
** when slumbering chains have bound me,'' 
a gentle spirit comes and whispers in the 
drowsy ear, and tells of those bright, hal- 
cyon, golden hours of my childho^ ; then 
of riper years of enjoyment, which have, 
alas I too quickly flown away, and are now 
numbered with the bright things of earth 
that were. And over the disc of memory 
comes floating the same tone, the same 
words, as when she knelt in reverent prayer 
beside me, pleading at the throne otgrace 
that "Our Father who art in Heaven" 
would guide with a steady and unerring 
hand the tottering footsteps of her "darling 
child;'' her tender offspring, that must 
Booa dxain the bitter chalice from the cup 
of experience. Full early she would find 
in youth's slippery by-paths the tempter, 
with his seductive wiles ; ambition's hurried 
throng, the world's cold deceit, and the 
stine of fidsehood. Then &me, the fickle 
roddess, would be found, whose flattering, 
orassj sound rings pleasure in the votary's 
ears. Above the din and glittering show 
of earth« dear mother! thy remembrance 
sheda a halo of love and protection around 
me, fislling like copious showers, soothing 
my troubled soul with its healing balm of 
peace, and is received by me like the cool, 
freah-gushing fountain at mid-day, when 
Old &l drives his fiery chariot high up in 
the heavens. 

How often, dear parent, how very often. 
have I Intterly wept and mourned over cola 
aeglecty and friendihip's forfeiture. Sati- 

ated with the fulsome adulation of a false, 
pretending world, with all its tinsel, glitter, 
pomp and show; and with teardimmed 
eves have Hooked back to the home of my 
cnildhood, to that little patch of mother 
earth ; a portion of God's acre that is dear 
to every mortal that has been blessed with 
a home. With more than a prodigal's 
gaze, the eye reaches far bevond the two 
dark and angry seas, and beholds that 
eyrie of love from which I have fiown, to 
the wide extending valley of experience 
and unhappiness, peopled with beings so 
unlike thy guardian form — creatures of 
narrow prejudices, who keep up a weary 
tread and shuflie in the giddy ranks of 
strife and envv ; and, mother, how few 
among them all, in the crowded avenues 
and walks of life, have I trusted and not 
been deceived 1 

So unlike my early home, that earthly 
'' Aiden," that at times the very air in this 
valley of beautv and sin, shade and sun- 
shine, is heavily freighted with unhappy 
remembrances, and I turn to thy deathless 
love as an oasis in the mind's dreary 
waste. That love buoys me up amid the 
breakers that dash aronnd the prow of my 
life-boat with^addening fury. Then blue 
brecJu of sky and bright sunlight, speaking 
of beauty and love, come peering through 
the rafters of heaven, and flooding the 
whole landscape with rich, mellow gleams 
of sunlight ana joy. 

Anxiety may liave dimmed thy eye of 
brightness, and the weight of accumulating 
years may have bent thy form, yet with ul 
these changes I know thy love remains un- 
altered through the lapse and mist of time, 
and falters not with aim declining vears« 
I miss thee I my mother, in aU the 
chequered walks of life. Thy name is 
deeply graven upon the tablet of memory, 
which will remain faithful until the chillinir 
touch of death shall have obliterated ul 
things earthly. Auci. 

- ^ — 

A very " nice young man,'' in company 
with several more " good fellows," started 
out the other night to have some ytrn, but 
unfortunately for them, wrenched off just 
one door-knob too many, and were nabbed, 
taken to the station-house, and locked up. 
Upon being released on the following day, 
our young man met an acquaintance, who 
said : '' So you were pretty much sold, last 
night, hey?" "Yes," was the reply; 
'' but there was no laugh in that cell /" 





Nineteen years ago a very respectable 
authority stated that Mr. Charles Dickens 
was " the most popular writer of his day.'' 
His popularity was then based upon the 
success of " Sketches by Boz," the " Pick- 
wick Papers," ** Nicholas Nickleby," and 
*• Oliver Twist " — the two last novels at 
that time in course of publication in month 
ly numbers. Nineteen years, — during 
which Mr. Dickens has held continuous 
and familiar intercourse with the public of 
Europe and America, — has but added to 
the truthfulness of the Reviewer's opinion, 
and in the preface to " Little Dorrit" he 
informs us, as on previous occnsions, that 
he " never had so many readers.'' In 
the United States — notwithstanding a tem- 
porary prejudice, caused by some sharp 
hits in the ** Notes on America," which for 
the moment wounded our national vanity — 
Mr. Dickens has won upon the affections 
of the people more than any other author, 
and, owing to the numerous and cheap re- 
prints of his works, has, probably, five 
times as many readers as in Great Brit- 
ain. In Germany, France, and other parts 
of continental Europe, translations of 
** Martin Chuzzlewit," "Bleak House," 
&c., are almost as common as the originals 
with us, and their author as thoroughly ap- 
preciated ; in fact ** Boz " has attained a 
celebrity more universal than even that of 
Sir Walter Scott. 

Mr. Dickens is remarkable for keen per- 
ception of character, and strong good 
sense — joined to descriptive faculties un- 
equalled since the days of Smollett and 
Fielding. He is also a humanitarian in 
the strictest sense of the word, and has 
ever before him the object of reforming ex- 
isting abuses. Like Thackeray or Jer- 
rold.t he possesses great sarcastic power, 
but his sarcasm is never used merely for 
display or as a vent for bitterness of spirit ; 
his attacks are invariably directed against 
foolish or dangerous social or individual 
habiti, or grievous wrongs which are the 
result of bad legislation or an illegitimate 
Public Opinion. Mr. Dickens always re- 
spects the poor and oppressed — the sick 
and afflicted — for them he has gentle words 
and bright hopes ; he touches their hearts 
with the overflowing sympathy of his own, 

• utile Dorrit, hj Bos. 

t We refcret to aaj that Douglas Jerrold has lately 
pud the great debt of nature In hia natlTc oountrj. 

and penetrates the gloom which surrounds 
them with the sunshine of manly compas- 
sion. In his character, genial humor and 
a quick sense of the ridiculous are blended 
with touching pathos and great love of sim- 
plicity and truth. He venerates pure re- 
ligion, but justly despises the snivelling 
cant and hypocritical assumption of some 
who seek to hide their corrupt hearto — 
nurtured in '* hatred^ malice and all un- 
charitableness" — beneath the garb of an 
austere and unbending Christianity. He 
is unsparing, but never vindictive or 
morose — sarcastic, but not cynical — pa- 
thetic, but never mawkishly sentioiental *, 
he ridicules, but not to wound the sensi- 
tive ; he is quick to perceive evil and as 
prompt to attack it, yet never misanthropic ; 
he has a disposition to exaggerate, but is 
natural and unaffected even in his exag- 
geration ; he possesses the rare gid of 
ability to write precisely as he feels, and 
his feelings are. always good — always be- 
nevolent. He adopts with ease the "moth- 
er-tongue" — the *' slang," the " Sanscrit" 
of each variety of people — refined or unre- 
fined ] in his portrayals of character — ^from 
the rudest and most uncouth to the most 
highly cultivated — the connection between 
the language and the individual or class is 
perfect *, the slightest peculiarities of idiom 
or expression are rendered distinctly and 
with wonderful accuracy. He describes 
character and incidents better than places, 
and scenes in the city more naturally than 
scenes in the country, though he oflen pn- 
rifies the murky atmosphere of the work- 
house or the prison with the fresh scent of 
beautiful flowers, and lets in through the 
cracks and seams of the gloomy gates 
bright gleams of sunshine and sweet sounds 
of unfettered birds, to cheer the weary and 
the heart-sick. His descriptions of dis- 
tressing incidents — such as the death cf 
the old pauper in " Oliver Twist " — arc 
painfully minute ; not a word, not a look, 
not a gesture escapes him ; he feels all — 
presents all — and, influenced by his own 
generous sympathy, heightens the effect of 
all; yet, 

'" though the light 

Enter not freely— the eye of God 
Smiles in upon them/' 

Mr. Dickens does not merely paint char- 
acter — he analyses it ; he pictures a rough, 
coarse, ignorant boor, apparently without 
sensibility — wholly gross and brutal — and 
when he has presented the portrait, so that 
it appears to the ordinary observer com- 
plete, he pours a flood of light suddenly 
^ into the recesses of the rough man's heart, 



And displays some trait of instinctive del- 
icacy tnat softens and refines his whole 
natnre. He has been an acute observer 
•of eccentricities, as well as general char- 
4tcteriBtic8, and in bis writings embodies 
each. He strips villainy of romance ; a 
thief to him is a thief, and not a " gentle- 
man of the road/' or a " shrewd specula- 
tor;'* he knows him perfectly — exposes 
him thoroughly, and is ever honestly indig- 
oant at his rascality. His aim is always 
high ; he scores the rich for their foibles, 
and governments for incompetency or neg- 
lect: he raises the poor and lowly from 
the dost, and teaches the high and w^ealthy 
to feel for them ; from the powerful and 
pane-proud he tears the garment of con- 
ceit, and the weak and poverty-stricken he 
tenderly enfolds with the mantle of respect. 

" Feels for the wrong to universal ken 
Daily exposed, woe that unsbronded lies: 
And teeks the sufferer io his darkest den." 

He is a genuine democrat; his stories are 
imbued with that spirit which moved 
Jefferson, of undying memory, when he 
wrote " all men are born free and equal." 
He is no Radical ; has no theoretical no- 
tions of general equalization; does not 
seek to pull down or to destroy, but to 
harmonize and purify by presenting evil 
in the most striking contrast with good, and 
thus producing the greatest abhorrence of 
the bad, and the strongest desire to root it 
out. He writes not for monarchs, aristo- 
crats or savantSf but for the *^ public ;^' he 
seeks not the praises of the few, but the 
good of the many; his enemies are counted 
by units, his admirers by millions. 

The popularity of Mr. Dickens is not 
ephemeral ; it will be transmitted to pos- 
terity with his writings and his history, for 
his sound sense has ever saved him from 
sacrificing a permanent good to a present 
success. He has always retained his mod- 
esty amidst the whirl of popular applause, 
and, thongh fond of rational approbation, 
he is without conceit : in proof of this we 
are told that a short time a^o, after reading 
his Christmas Carol at St. Martin's Hall,* 
when Tociferously called for, *' his counte- 
nance wore the pleased expression of a 
boy's" — ^his pleasure was caused by find- 
ing the same perfect sympathy between 
** Boz " and his auditors that had long ex- 
isted between *^ Boz " and his readers ; — 
his graUfication was as innocent and un- 

•ThB ooeMloB rtfinwl to was a reading glrcn in 

' I by Mr. BivMoa. with ehiirarteri«tic b>9neT- 

te tha bf^<^tha liMiiUy of the late Douglas 

restrained as a child's — entirely without 
vanity. It is this earnest simplicity, joined 
to a shrewd but pure benevolence, that 
forms the best guarantee for the permanen- 
cy of Charles Dickens* high reputation. 
His spirited delineations of English char- 
acter — especially in low life — more perfect 
than Smollett^s, without his vulgarity, and 
directed by the highest motives, will never 
lose their charm. Scrooge and Fagin — 
Sam Weller and Mark Tapley— Little Nell 
and Little Dorrit — can not perish so long 
as hatred of evil, love of the humorous, 
and appreciation of purity, find a resting- 
place m the human heart. Whatever their 
faults, they are, like their author, immor- 

One of the highest claims of Mr. Dick- 
ens to distinction, is the fact that he has 
successfully inaugurated an original style 
of composition.* He holds colloquial in- 
tercourse with his readers, and writes his 
stories as though he was telling them. He 
is perfectly familiar, yet his familiarity 
never "breeds contempt," He exposes 
the lowest depths of misery and sin, in the 
language and with the characteristics of 
each, yet is instinct with delicacy : he not 
only conveys idecis'm print, but feeling and 
expression. He is suggestive without be- 
ing obscure ; sarcastic without being bit- 
ter; humorous without effort; simple with- 
out being foolish ; graphic and terse in 
style ; — in short, he is the man who, above 
all others, addresses the great heart of hu- 
manity in its own langnage. 

Critically speaking, Charies Dickens has 
some faults ;— a few which he can easily 
remedy, and with benefit to himself and 
the public. . Now, in 1838 a distinguisned 
and liberal Review advanced the proposi- 
tion that great popularity is ** no ^oof of 
merit," though "presumptive evidence" 
of it ; but in our times, and especially in 
the United States, public opinion to a great 
extent overweighs criticism, and when an 
author is universally praised, it is gener- 
ally an ungrateful task to express anv opin- 
ion of his works but snrh as is laudatory, 
and therefore accepts !ole to the pooular 
palate. This impatiiince of close and im- 
partial scrutiny ia ge nerated of feeling ; — 
it is therefore natu/ al, and, in itself, not 
reprehensible ; but, for the interest of lit- 
erature, (which pla- ysan important part m 
promoting the ad vancement of civiliia- 

^ I T 

• It roar not be aial «i h««r*» to eal I attentlou to the 
preat oblif(ntloDii Mr. bieMOK if under to Mr. CrutK- 
sh«nk. vhoM grap^ ,ir •trhlngi' arcompanyjas «ne 
'* Skatrbes," *o , torn tribute mueti towards bringlDg 
him into publio jj^ ^ ^x ih» oataet of bis career. 

• * 



lion,) it 18 well, while duly appreciating 
the excellencies of a writer, not altogether 
to ignore his defects ; — ^feelin^ should be 
subservient to reason. During the last 
twenty years'Mr. Dickens has received a 
meed of praise which would have con- 
siderably inflated anv one less sensible 
than himself: but he has never been 
above profiting by honest suggestions, from 
any source — ana hence the progressive 
improvement of his style. He has not 
yet got rid of all his faults, nor is he, we 
believe, less ready to profit by candid crit- 
icism than he was twenty years ago. We 
therefore, before taking leave of him — 
adopting his latest production (Little Dor- 
rit) as the basis of our observations — shall 
speak briefly but unreservedly of what to 
us appear its chief excellencies and defects. 
" Littie Dorrit,'' the heroine of the story 
— *^ whose first draught of air was tinctured 
with Dr. Haggage's orandy" — ^was bom in 
the " Marshalsea,"— one of the numerous 
gloomy dens in which, until within a few 
years, the enlightened British Government 
allowed remorseless creditors to immure 
delinquent debtors for life, or (in most 
cases about the same thing) until their 
debts were paid. In this " black hole " of 
London, then, ** Littie Dorrif was bom 
and *' brought up," and at the time the 
story propeny begins, she has become a 
'' littie woman," pretematurally grave and 
earnest, quiet, enduring, and devoted to 
her surviving parent, the '' Father of the 
Marshalsea.'^ How she straggled and 
toiled in secret for her father; how she 
deprived herself of common necessaries 
to contribute to his comfort; how she 
bore with his peevishness and irritability, 
and in the fulmess of her love looked upon 
his selfish sensitiveness to any allusion to 
his position as merely the assertion of a 
natural dignity ; how she watched over a 
flippant sister and a reckless brother; — 
how, when times of sunshine came she was 
still the same " littie woman " — ^not like 
her fiither, brother, and sister — frenzied 
by {prosperity — ^but her thoughts ever re- 
verting to her old home, to her old friends 
and companions: — how, for the sake of 
those she loved, sne tried to be high and 
haughty, but how her own innocent heart, 
which had expanded in the darkness of the 
Marshalsea, like a rose in the desert, ren- 
dered the effort useless ;— how, in adversi- 
ty and in prosperous days, she kept the se- 
cret of her love for Clennam close in her 
own bosom, and how she struggled against 
that love, and when a dark hour came, and 
CUnnamwas thrust into that same Mur- 

shalsea, where he had formerly been a vis- 
iting angel to her old feither; — how she 
lefl the world and its gayeties, and flew 
like a Nightingale to his side; — ^how at 
last the clouds cleared away and the sun 
shone bright and warm again, and how the 
^' littie woman " and Arthur were married 
** with the sun shining on them through 
the painted figure of our Saviour on the 
winaow," and how they " went down into 
a modest life of usefulness and happiness '* 
— all this is described in the author's hap- 
piest style. But the character is unnatu- 
ral. Such heroines, bom in such prisons, 
and educated amidst such associations as 
was " Little Dorrit," are never found in real 
life, and the tendency of indulging the im- 
agination by elevating a woman into a sort 
01 angel in low life, however beautiful and 
free from the idea of ^* angels with wings " 
which an extensive class of modern litera- 
ture is diluted with, the picture maj be, is to 
create a false estimate of the punty of hu- 
man nature. Little Dorrit also is in some 
respects but a re-production of Littie NelL 
Arthur Clennam, though not so attractive, 
is a far more reasonable character. His 
generosity, his strong sense of principle, 
his abhorrence of vice, and his nnselnsh- 
ness, we see sometimes illustrated in com- 
mon experience ; but we must protest 
against the conceptions of FUntwich, Af- 
fery, and Mrs. Clennam — their eccentric 
and unaccountable behavior : the ** myste- 
rious noises^n the old house,'' &c. — as mar- 
ring the effect of the narrative by their 
obscurity. An old woman, sitting bolt up- 
right in a chair for fifteen or twenty yean, 
professing a hard and gloomy Christianity 
and keeping within her breast the secret 
of a crime, which she justifies to the last 
upon the score that she is a dealerH>ut of 
God's vengeance upon earth — ^is too severe 
a criticism, even upon the most stubborn 
and rigid of religious fanatics. Besides, 
the character is a mere skeleton, surround- 
ed with a repelling atmosphere of black- 
ness ; and that or Flintwich is still more 
misty, while Affery is incomprehensible. 
The '' two clever ones " by no means add 
to Mr. Dickens' reputation for cleverness. 
The " Circumlocution Office " and Uie 
" Barnacle " family are an admirable sat- 
ire^pon the proverbial slowness of certain 
branches of the British Gbvemment^ and 
tiie monopoly of numerous officesby infla- 
ential aristocratic families. " Whatever 
was required to be done, the Circumlocution 
Office was beforelumd with all the }>ublic 
departments in the art of perceiving— 
HOW NOT TO DO IT." ♦ ♦ • 



*^ Mechanicianfl, natural philoeopbers, aol- 
dien, sailorB, petitionerSy memorialiata — 
people with grieyances, people who want- 
ed to prevent grievances, people who want- 
ed to redress grievances, jobbing people, 
jobbed people, people who conldn't get re- 
warded for ment, and people who couldn't 
get punished for demerit — ^were all indis- 
crimiiiatelv tacked np under the foolscap 
paper of the Circumlocution Office/' and 
" numbers of people were lost in the Cir- 
cumlocution Office." ♦ * ♦ ♦ "The 
Barnacle family had for some time helped 
to administer the Circumlocution Omce. 
The Tite Barnacle Branch, indeed, con- 
sidered themselves in a general way as 
having vested rights in that direction, and 
took it ill if any other family had much to 
say about it.*' Daniel Doyce, an excellent 
specimen of the intelligent, patient and 
practical mechanic, was foolish enough to 
** perfect an invention (involving a very 
eurioiu secret process) of great importance 
to hia country and his ^How-creatures." 
Instead of coming to the United States, or 
some other country where there is no Cir- 
cumlocution Office, he added to his folly 
by attempting to secure a patent in his 
own countrv. Consequently he got into 
the Circumlocution Office, and thereupon 
he was referred by this Mr. Barnacle to 
that Mr. Barnacle — ^tossed from this Com- 
mittee to that Committee — subjected to 
rigid examinations before powdered Bar- 
nacles and Stiltstockings, who ''mud- 
dled the business, addled the business, 
toeaed the business in a wet blanket" 
and finally left the business precisely 
where they had found it. It was only 
after years of perseverance, and then more 
through good luck than any thing else, 
that poor Doyce — who had grown weary 
and worn, though he was always cheerful — 
realixed the l^nefit of his genius. The 
whole conception is admirable, and, we 
observe, has considerably ruffled the feath- 
en of the Barnacles ana Stiltstocldngs of 
Great Britain.* 

Old Mr. Dorrit is an exaggerated de- 
lineation, but, on the whole, a good one. 
Hit desire to keep up his family dignity, 
while in the Marshelsea for so many years 
— his pompous, though childish pride when 
he became wealthy ; his constant fear of 
any reference to the past ; his return in 
his delirium^ just before death, to tiie scene 
of his long imprisonment ; to his old cling- 
ing to his faithful Little Dorrit, and the 
dose of his life and that of his brother 

when they went ** before their Father, far 
beyond the twilight judgments of this world 
— ^high above its mists and obscurities ; — all 
this IS a sad and truthful illustration of the 
hollowness of that vanity of vanities — that 
most pernicious of evils, the pride of caste, 
the conceit of earthly position. Pancks — ^a 
puffing, snorting steam engine, is an excel- 
lent type of a certain class of our own coun- 
trymen — hard, dry, practical, always on the 
go; a sharp collector and first-rate '* gene- 
ral man of business"— commonly presenting 
his rough side, but kind hearted at bottom. 
He is a character worth studying. Mr. 
Casby is Mr. Pecksniff, in another phase, 
nothing more. His daughter, Flora, is a 
libel even upon the romantic and senti- 
mental damsels of these days. Blandois 
is a good specimen of the sardonic Machia* 
vellian, Italian villain. Imagine Dr. Ric- 
cabocca's idea practicalised, and you have 
him exactly. Mr. Dickens need not have 
attempted to defend that ''extravagant con- 
ception," Mr. Merdle, by any reference to 
an ''Irish Bank." Merdles figure quite 
conspicuously in the history of San Fran - 
Cisco, from the time of Ward to the present. 
We have thus briefly alluded to what we 
consider the principal merits and demerits 
of Litde Dorrit. We have been compel- 
led to neglect some points, well worthy of 
notice, but for this, a want of space must 
be an excuse. The sum of our conclusion 
is, that there is a great want of connection 
in tiie plot ; that its simplicity is marred 
by many useless incumbrances lugged in 
among the dramatis personce ; that there 
is much exaggeration in characters and 
incident. But the hit of the Circumlocu- 
tion Office is, in our judgment, among the 
choicest of Mr. Dickens' sarcastic efforts, 
and in minute description of delicate traits 
of character — of eccentricities and pecu- 
liarities, social and individual, we consider 
" Little Dorrit " the best of his works. On 
the whole, it is a production which will add, 
if possible, to the high reputation and pop- 
uluity of its author. 

We cannot in justice close this notice of 
Mr. Dickens, without calling attention to 
the simplicity, veracity and catholic spirit 
which distinguish his " Child's Histonr of 
England." It is par exeeUmce the book of 
Bnglish history K>r American children to 
study. Interesting, full of accurate inform 
matiouy clothed in an agreeable style, and 
breathing throughout a tone of the purest 
morality, it is, of all other similar works, 
best cuonlated to leave permanent and 
libenU impressions upon the youthful mind. 



We hope to see it general among the homes 
of California* 

We confess to a feeling of regret as we 
put aside the last Yolume of '^ Little Dorrit," 
and temporarily, we hope, bid its gifted 
author aaieu. Charles Dickens has so won 
upon onr affections^ during his eminently 
saccessful and useful career, that we feel 
an earnest desire to hold constant inter- 
course with him. We cannot better ex- 
press our feelings and those of the masses 
of the people, than by saying in his own 
simple ana expressive language — ''May 
we meet again." 


How charming 'tis in pensiye mood, 

To roam o'er mountains wild and high, 
Whoso lofty peaks, sublime though rude, 

Seem interlocked with cloud and sky ;— 
To learn the philosophic lore 

They teach — ^to gaze on and admire 
Splendors which wake now, as of yore. 

To music-praise, the poet's lyre. 

How cheering 'tis, this mountain land 

Is vastly rich in virgin gold, 
And we, perchance, among the sand 

May find and gather wealth untold ; 
May thenceforth reckon *' troops of friends," 

To come, aye ready at our call, 
For past neglect to make amends, — 

Our pleasures to enhance withal.* 

How sweet it is, to backward trace 

The course we've trod in days agone. 
And scan In thought, each fair young face 

We once rejoiced to look upon ; 
To think how full of hope and joy 

Our hearts were in our youthful years. 
Ere bliss seem'd mix'd with care's alloy, 

Or smiles had given place to tears. 

How sad it is, alas I to know, 

That she — ^my dear Louise, on whom 
My first young love I did bestow, 

Far hence is mouldering in the tomb I 
The bright blue eye, the wining tress, 

Were my delight — but now 'tis o'er ; 
My heart, o'eijoyed at her caress, 

Can feel no more — ^ah ! nevermore ! 

Oh, vaunt no more the worth of gold. 

Nor of the landscape's beauty sing, 
Though these be sources, as we're told, 

Whence many valued blessings spring. 
No blessing, howsoe'er divine, 

And deemed to come from realms above, 
Is treasured in this heart of mine. 

Like virtuous woman's tender love. 




BidweO, CbL 

The man who ''footed his biO," ii said 
U> be a ihoemaker. 

Here we are again, my pen and me — 
but I am wrong, so far as tne pen is con- 
cerned, in saying again, for it is the first 
.appearance of wis pen which will intro* 
duce itself to you through this commnnica* 
tion, and I trust will prove an agreeable 
and pleasant acquaintance. My old pen, 
the one that has stood by me so lonsr, and 
has so often transferred my thoughts to 
paper, and been the acting medium be- 
tween myself and others, and which has so 
oflen spoke to you, my unknown friends, in 
silent words, performed its last duties yes- 
terday. Although disabled and maimed, 
in consequence of a fall which it received 
some time since, it would not give up ; 
and, in fact, from an attachment which I 
always entertain for an old friend, I did 
not wish it, and so we worked away to- 
gether until yesterday, when it became sub- 
ject to spasmodic kicks, and I then knew 
that we soon must part. I disliked even 
then to give it up, but as I looked upon its 
almost helpless condition, my compassion 
overcame the attachment, and I have laid 
it away where it shall rest in quiet undis- 
turbed. And now, with my new pen, I 
propose to write of Thanksgiving, and, 
mayhap, a few words of home, for ere 
another number of the Magazine is issued 
this year's Thanksgiving day will have 

Sitting here I chanced to think that 
Thanksgiving day would soon come, and 
in my mind I was led to draw a comparison 
between Thanksgiving day at home and in 
California ; and as I sat and thought, I re- 
membered how, during the past nine years, 
as our annual Thanksgivmg day came 
'round, I had often done the same thing, 
and how that last year I said to myself, 
"Doings, we'll have a Thanksgiving dinner 
any how 1" and how I went without lunch 
in order to get up a big appetite ; and, 
about five, P. M., feeling sufficiently shark- 
ish, I entered a restaurant and, divestin? 
myself of overcoat, hat and cane, dropped 
into a chair beside a little table, and, 
spreading out as large as possible, rapped 
for a waiter ; a young man with a dirty 
napkin in one hand, and several unclean 
dishes in the other, answered the call, and 
stood beside me. <* Turkey,'' said I, ** and 
mind there's plenty of it, with all the 
fixins.'' The young man soon returned 
and covered my little table with dishes, 
oae of which oontainod quits a quantity of 



tenet and a Tory little of— it might haya 
been tnrkej-flefih — perhaps it waa, but I 
couldn't eat, my appetite had vanished, for 
as I snrrejred tne dish before me I was led 
to think of famine, and of the sufferings of 
that poor turkey when alive^ of how fa- 
tigued he must have often been when 
taking his daily ronnds about the barn- 
yard, and what an immense exertion it 
mnst have required for that small amount 
of Besh to have propelled such a proportion 
of bones. I felt really sorry for that 
torkev, and had he died a natural death I 
wonla liked to have written his epitaph, 
■omething like the following: — 

I dtod, BBd k»T« 1 11*— yat Ijing, do not U*— 
BteTTtttlon wu my only Ul— I raally wai not lit to kill, 
80 MTsd my VU» oy dying. 

Bnt the best and fattest turkeys in the 
world^-and I am sure California can boast 
of them— do not make Thanksgiving. To 
eat a piece of turkey and call it llianks- 
giving is a jest-— a farce — a mockery — a 
slander npon that glorious institution. 
Thanksgiving I what is it 7 Why it is the 
ra^uiion of friends, the annual gathering 
of familiee, the meeting of parents and 
childreui of our best, our dearest friends — 
the old and young — ^generations are gath* 
ered together, and, throwing aside all cares, 
meet with smiles, with light and happy 
hearts — snch is Thanksgiving in good old 
New England — and what more beautiful 
than a whole generation gathered about the 
festive boaid, from the aged grand-dame to 
the lisping babe — extremes almost meet- 
ing^-every eye beaming with a joyful lus- 
tre, and eveiy heart beating with a happy 
thrill of pleasure— ^ven grandma, forgetting 
her dotage, imagines she is young again, 
and breaking forth in merry peals of laugh- 
ter, repeats ue oft-told tales of her youthful 
days ; and for this one day at least in all 
the year, heart beats to kindred heart, and 
playinfT upon the self-same string, striking 
npon the selfsame chord, send forth their 
thanks in unison, which the good spirits 
hovering near take up and bear away to 
heaven. And such is Thanksgiving — not 
Che turkey, bnt the sauce served with it ; a 
rieh sance, composed of sweets gathered 
from happv smiles, seasoned with Uie sages 
gatherea there, spioed with merry peals of 
mghter, and warmed up with glowing 
heuts. But this is only to be found at 
home, and there is bnt one home, and that 
where we were ushered into life, where 
live the associations of childhood and jouth, 
where Ke the green fields and meadows 
which our vouthfnl feet so oft have pressed 

bojhood sportit wheia the same old 

waves ripple and whisper along the sea 
shore, as when we were wont to listen, 
where the same ocean roUs^ upon whose 
surface we so oft have sailed, where the 
same laughing rivulet ripples along as 
when we played upon its banks, wnere 
those old church bells each Sabbath mom 
chime out their sweet harmonious notes, 
speaking volumes full of home, and where 
in all its solemn state and silence is the old 
church yard, where lie our fathers' bones, 
and by whose side a place is marked out 
for us ; here, and only here, is bomb. We 
may try in a distant land to smother the 
feelings, and cheat ourselves into the be- 
lief that we have made a new home, but 
the feeling is only smothered^no change, 
no place, no time, ever will, or ever can 
eraaicate that deep-rooted, never dying af- 
fection which we ever must and ever will 
retain and cherish for our first, our only 
home. When we left that home and wan- 
dered to this far-off land, we became pion- 
eers, and as it ever has been with pioneers 
so it must be with us ; we must experience 
that feeling of restlessness, that uneasy 
spirit, that void occasioned by the loss of 
home ; but we are pioneers in a land where 
nature has showered her richest blessings, 
and where if we but pursue the same course 
that we would cU homCy if we are true to the 
principles instilled into our youthful minds, 
if we follow in the same paths we trod in 
early days at home, if we but persevere in 
endeavoring to establish a good moral tone 
to society, and to rectify the evils already 
done, we shall prosper and live happy even 
here ; and as we pass from buoyant man- 
hood into ripe old age, we shall travel 
sweetly and smoothly along the valley unto 
death, with no cloud upon the horison 
before us, no shadow on the past, feeling 
that in our lives we have done well, that 
we have not lived for naught, that we have 
made for our children a home in a land 
overflowing with '' milk and honey," that 
we have planted around them associations 
for which posterity shall bless us, and that 
to hail California as a birth-place and as a 
home shall fill their hearts with pride, the 
soul with pleasure. 

And may we live that such shall be our 
end — ^live to see our children grow up to 
honor, love and bless us ; and if we cannot 
feel that this is our home, it is theirs, and 
in them we live again, and with them we 
can help to form the circle around the fes- 
tive board Thanksgiving days. 

What is bigger than a whale? Why, a 
whaler, to be sure I 




The following yerBlons of the Lord's 
Prayer, we doubt not, will afford consid- 
erable interest to oar stadious readers ; 
and as the long winter evenings are com- 
ing fast, will be a source of considerable 
gratification to our young friends, to exam- 
ine the construction of different languages 
and perhaps not only tempt them to commit 
each of the following to memory, but induce 
them to usefully employ their leisure by 
studying one or more of the ancient or mod- 
em languages. In this age of money-hunt- 
ing, the accomplishments of a progressive 
age, like the present, are apt to be overlook- 
ed by the young, — a mistake not easily cor- 
rected in after years. 


A. D. 1158. — Fader ur in heune, haleweide 
beith thi neune, cumin thi kuneriche, thi wille 
beoth idon in heune, and in errhe. — The 
eueryeu dawe bried, gif ous thilk dawe. 
And vorzif ure detters as vi yorsifen ure 
dettoures. And lene ous nought into tem- 
tation, bot delyvor eus of uvel. Amen. 

A. D. 1300. — Fadir ure in hevene, Hale- 
wyd be thi name, thi kingdom come, thi wille 
be don as in hevene and in erthe — Our urche 
dayes bred give us to daye. And foregive 
us oure dettes as we foregive cure dettoures. 
And lead us nor in temptation, bote delyv- 
err us of y vil. Amen. 

A. D. 1370. — Oure fadir that art in heunes 
hallowid be thi name, thi kingdom come to, 
be thi wille done in erthe as In heune, geve 
to us this day oure breed oure other subitaunce 
forgene to us oure dettis as we forgauen to 
oure dettouris, lede us not into temptation ; 
but delyuer us yvel. Amen. 

A. D. 1524. — O oure father which arte In 
bevon, hallowed be thy name. Let thy king- 
dom come. ThywyoUbe fulfilled as well 
in earth as it is in hevon. Give us this day 
oure dayly brede. And forgeve us oure 
treaspaces even as we forgeve our treaspa- 
cer& And lede us not into temptacioun, but 
delyver us f^om evell. For thyne is the 
kingdome and the power and the glorye for 
ever. Amen. 

A. D. 1581. — Our father which art in 
heaun, sanctified be thy name. Let thy 
kingdom come. Thy will be done, as in 
heauen, in earth also. Give us to-day our 
superstantial bread. And forgive us our 
dettes as we forgive our detters. And lede 
UB not into temptation. But delivere us 
flromevU. Amen. 

A. D. 1611 — Our father which art in 
heaun, hallowed be thy name. Thy king- 
dom come. Thy will be done in earth as it 
is in heaven. Give us this day our dayly 
bread. And forgive us our debts as we for- 
give our debtors. And lede us not into temp- 
Seition, but deliver us from evil. For thyne 
is the kingdome, and the power, and the 
glory forever. Amen. 

A. D. 1857. — Our Father which art m 
heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy king- 
dom come. Thy will be done in earth as it 
is in heaven. Give us this day our daily 
bread. And forgive us our trespasses, as we 
forgive them that trespass against us. And 
lead us not into temptation, but deliver us 
from evil. For thine is the kingdom, the 
power, and the glory, for ever and ever. — 


Pater hemon ho en tois ouranols, hagias- 
theto to onoma sou. Eltheto he Basilea sou. 
G^netheto to thelema sou, hos en ouraao, 
kai epi tes ges. Ton arton hemon ton epi- 
ousion dos hiemin semeron. Kai aphes hemin 
ta opheilemata hemon, hos kai hemeis aphi- 
emen tois opheiletais hemon. Kai me eise- 
nengkes hemas eis peirasmon, alia rosai 
hemas apo ton ponerou ; hoti sou estin he 
Basileia, kai he dunamis kai he doxa, eis 
tons aidnas. Amen. 


Pater noster, qui es in coelis, sanctificetor 
nomentuum. Adveniatregnumtuum. Fiat 
voluntas tua, sicut in coelo, et in terra. Pa- 
nem nostrum quotidianum da nobis hodie. 
Et remitte nobis debita nostra, sicut et nos 
remittimus debitoribus nostris. £t ne nos 
inducas in tentationem, sed libera nos a male. 
Tibi«nim est regnum, et potentia, et gloria, 
in sempitemum. Amen. 


Padre nostro, che sei ne' cieli, sia santifi- 
cato il tuo nome. II tuo regno venga. La 
tua volonta sia fatta in terra come in cielo. 
Dacci oggi il nostro pane cotidiano. E ri- 
mettici i nostri debit!, come noi ancora gli 
rimettiamo a' nostri debitor!. E non indarci 
in tentazione, ma llberaci, dal maligno. 
Perciochi tuo h il regno, e la poteuza, e la 
gloria, in sempitemo. Amen. 


Padre nuestro, que estas en los cielos, sea 
sanctificado tu nombre. V^ga tureyno; sea 
hecha tua voluntad, como en el clelo, ansi 
tambien en la tierra. Danes oy nuestro paa 
quotidiano. T sueltanos nuestras dendas, 
como tambien nosotros soltamos a nuestros 
deudores. T no nos metas-en tentacion, mas 
libranos de mal. Porque tuyo es el reyao, 
y la pot^cia, y la gloria, por todoslos sigloa 


> Notro Fere qui es auz cieoz, ton nom soit 



caocUfle. Toa rdgne vienne ; ta volont^ 
Boit ttdte Bor la tcrre, comme au oiel. Don- 
oe-noos aigourd'hai notre pain qaotidlen. 
Pardonnd^DoiiB nosp^h^s, comme aossl nooB 
pardoaaoos a ceuz qui nous oat offenses. 
£t ne nous abandonne point k la tentation, 
mais d^Uvre nona da malin. Gar k toi ap- 
ftrtieat le rtgoe, la paiBsance, et la gloire, 
a jamais. Amen. 


Unaer Yater in dem Hlmmel, dein Name 
vrerde geheiliget. Dein Reich komme. Dein 
Wille geachehe aaf Erden wie im Himmel. 
TJoier taglichea Brod gieb ana hente. Und 
rergieb tins noBere Scholden, wie wir onBern 
Scholdigem verg^ben. Und fiihre nnfl nicht 

in Yersaohangy Bondern erlose ana Ton dem 
Uebel. Denn dein ist das Reich, and die 
Kraft, and die Herrlichkeit, in Ewigkeit. 


Onze Yader, die in de Hemelen znt, aw 
naam worde geherligd. Uw Koningrijk ko- 
me. Uw wil gerehiede, Greliik in den hemel. 
Zoo ook op de aarde, Greer one heden ons 
dagelgkBcn brood. En vergeef odb onze 
Bohnlden, (}elnk ook w^ vergeven onzen 
flchnldenaren. En leid ons niet in yerzoeking, 
Maar verlos ons van den booze. Want Uw 
is het koningryk, En de kracht, en de heer- 
lijkheid. In de eenwigheid. Amen. 

C3D^siiP G83(B>cBSL9ia CSaOaaiflxPo 


Gbvtub Ectoevia : I have not the small- 
est frmgment of a doabt bat ** yoa wish 
^a*d luive been there/* and I can rdadily 
imagine how yoa felt when perosing that 
** sympathy seeking " detail of my adven- 
tore. Memoir donbtless wafled yoa back 
to those blissful days, long agone, when 
▼on were yoang ana attended parties ; and 
\ am confident that those '* cherry lips" 
(what strange fancies some people have) 
of yonrsy trembled with envj toward those 
yoang ladies who so delicionsly regaled 
tbemaelvts at my expense. I certainly 
did not expect that any one coold be so 
heartless as to rejoice over my sufferings 
upon that occasion^ and I fondly trast that 
yofa are not serioas. But since yon have 
thooght proper to become indignant, and 
cast refleetions npon the bachelor frater- 
nity, allow me to speak for <me — and, En- 
genia, pray be calm while I poor into yonr 
attentire ear a portion of my reasons for 
belieTing that marriage does not beget 
happiness I 

U is possible that even I might, at this 
time, have been an a£fectioaate and dnti- 
fol husband — perhaps a parient — bat for 
the unfortunate examples continuallv be- 
fore me. My dearest and best friends nave 
been sacrificed, and it would be more than 
foUv for me, with the benefits of their ex- 
perience, and with their melancholy and 
neart-cmshing fiite ever in view, to enter- 
tain ideas other than I do. I always feel 
sad when I think of the once brilliant Joe 
Johnson, who was one of my most intimate 
fiotois ; for yean ve had walked, talked, 

smoked, roomed and boarded together, 
sympathized with each other in sunshine 
and in sorrow — but Joe had a weakness, 
and Lucy Larkin discovering it, forthwith 
brought all her batteries to bear upon that 
one spot Joe was tickled — ^the hallucina* 
tion [pleased him. Night after night did 
he roil and tumble about the bed, talking 
in his sleep of ''dear Lucy" — ^^'smaJl 
sized cottages " — ** devoted lover " — ** dis- 
traction " — ^^ happiness " — *' share our sor- 
rows" — ^**joy and perfect bliss'' — and 
finally wound up by frantically embracing 
the pillow and smothering it with kisses. 
Well, Joe was married, and for the first 
three weeks I think he was the happiest 
fellow I ever knew — ^I almost envied nim. 
The fourth week he went by without coming 
in ; the fifth week he passed by on the 
other side of the street, and appeared mel- 
ancholy; the sixth week, as he was 
coming down town one day, I went out 
purposely to meet him. "Joe" said I, 
"jovL are doing very wrong to throw off old 
fnends ; come to my room, I want to talk 
with yon." ** No» ' Fe,' excuse me, I must 
go home, it's past eight" " Past eight, 
fadge I come on, we'll have a good smoke, 
one of the old kind." « No, * Fe,' I— I'd 
rather not — ^I — I — ah — don't smoke now, 
it's said to be injurious." Here he pulled 
out his handkerchief and in a veiy vehe- 
ment manner blew his nose. " Bran new 
discovery," said I ; *' it'sj rather singular 
that after smoking ten years you have only 
now learned it ; but I see it all, Joe, yon 
are not happy." He grasped mv hand and 
leaned his h^sd npon my shoulder, as he 
sobbed, " Yon are right, I am not happy. 
Oh, < Fe,' I'm miserable." Thenatrught- 



ening himself he spoke with a yoice more 
than earthly, 'twas inspirHtion I — " As you 
value happiness beware of females /" 

Tom Brooks, one of the liveliest and 
best hearted fellows that ever lived, he was 
married about a year since, and yesterday 
I saw Mrs. Brooks sailin^^ majestically 
along, and poor Tom followed dragging a 
basket carnage. He looked like a man 
going to his own fnneral. I nodded to him, 
and he returned it with a sickly smile — 
poor fellow. 

John Roberts, another of our fellows, 
was married three years ago, and has now 
two children, who, together with wife, are, 
and always have been, sick. Since his 
marriage I have rarely seen him on the 
street, but he was either going to the apoth- 
ecary shop or for the doctor — Tie enjoys ^?) 
** the comforts of a home " — ^a sick wife 
and squalling babies. 

Charles Hartwell is now my " chum ;" 
he lost his wife some six months since, and 
for the space of two weeks was inconsol- 
able ; he repeated to me, until I felt like 
kicking him, her many rare virtues, and 
the very many excellent points in her 
character which he had just discovered. A 
month ago he told me that he was happier 
than he ever had been in his life ; and 
last week, when I joked him about Mary 
Ann, (over the way) he placed his right 
hand upon my shoulder, and looking me 
straight in the eye, said, with voice and 
manner so impressive that T shall never 
forget it : '* Felixy never again joke with me 
upon the subject of matrimony, I have 
been there^His no joke I " Sam CoflSn, 
too, lost his wife. She ran away with his 
partner, and left Sam with a little girl of 
five years, and an infant aged six months. 
Who would not be a bachelor ? free, care- 
less, and happy ! I would not say there 
are no happy marriages : on the contrary, 
with some, married life is a pleasant day — 
perpetual sunshine. The occasional clouds 
which flit across their pathway, are but the 
coloring to the picture. But with the ma- 
jority — aye, nine out of every ten I but eke 
out a miserable existence. With them, 
life is ever clouded, dark, and dreary ; and 
if perchance a playful sunbeam pierces the 
gloom, it flickers for a moment, then dies 
oat, and the darkness seems blacker yet. 
I consider that I have been particularly 
fortunate, and Uiat, b^ a special dispensa- 
tion of providence I I have been permitted 
to avoid the many snares which have been 
laid to entrap me. I do not object to be* 
in^ called a jBachiix>r, but I do object to 
being called old. I tnut that I am too ' 

much of a gentleman to retaliate, and 
for the kind(!) wishes you so profusely 
shower upon me in the closing of your 
epistle, I forgive and pity you. You have 
probably lived so long under the shadow of 
maidenhood, that your natural disposition 
has become acrid, and your nerves are ea- 
sily excited. Go into the country, Euge- 
nia ; breathe for a while pure air ; com- 
mune with nature ; drink milk, and read 
a few chapters of the New Testament ev- 
er^ day. 'Twill calm your mind ; and a 
mind at rest will produce a better com- 
plexion than all the cosmetics ever made. 
Plain features may become animated, and 
even interesting ; and when you succeed 
in alluring some young man into the har- 
bor of mrtrimony, use him kindly, and 
prove, by constant practice, that there are 
charms about the fireside, and that a sick 
bed may be even pleasant ; that arm-chairs, 
slippers, and clean linen with the buttons 
on, are not altogether imaginary. As for 
myself, I am content and happy as a bache* 
lor; subscribing myself 

Yours, good-naturedly, 

Felix ANDER Douros. 
DoingsviUe, Sept. 5, 1867. 

Novel Lullabt for Sleep. — A friend of 
ours who has been an invalid for several 
months, and who has been accustomed to 
the bustle and noise of city life, now resides 
a short distance in the country where every- 
thing around is remarkably quiet — too quiet, 
she affirms, to allow her to fall asleep o' 
nights. Recently, however, she has hit up- 
on a plan, somewhat novel, we admit, as a 
remedy ; as, when the wakeful hours for- 
bid to 

" Let her thoughts fold up like flowers 
In the twilight of the mind,'' 

she prevails upon her other half to com- 
mence the anpoetical but (to her) musical 
employment of grinding coffee I until she 
falls asleep. As this invention might be 
the means of making some lucky and enter 
prising fellow a rich man, we with pleasure 
impart the information that no patent will 
be applied for, by the inventor ! 

Wont Have It. — John K. Lov^oy was 
the very model of an independent editor 
says the ever witty and excellent editor of 
the Sierra Citizen^ while he presided over the 
Old MmintmneeTf from which he has receotly 
retired. His name having been annonnoed 



in that nine paper, a short time ago, as an 
independent candidate for the Legislature, 
be meets the announcement of the gratuit- 
ona nomination In one of the most caustic 
articles (published as a card) that it has ever 
been our pleasure to read. It has the whole- 
some smack of truth which is always to be 
relished. We give the following extract as 
a specimen:— 

*'Sanl! Saul I why persecutest thou meV^ 
What dirty trick have we been guilty of, 
that Our old IrieodB should wish us to sacrifice 
our eternal peace of mind, and what repu- 
tation we have, by going to a California 
Legtalatore, is more than we know ! Shades 
of Clay and Webster forgive them ! We feci, 
however, grateful for their supposed kind 
intentions, and their confidence in us, but 
beg leave to decline the most di$Ungidihed 
komor they so kindly would bestow upon us, 
aiKl at the same time, in justice to ourself 
and them, will give a few reasons, and pray 
they may prove satisfeictory ; should they 
not, we are sorry. 

Were we thoroughly qualified, the people 
of oar county are so completely joined to 
their idols, in the shape of partv drill, that 
were the veriest ass in the world to receive 
a nomination at the hands of a "stuffed'' 
convention, he would be elected over us, and 
that would wound our pride. 

We have told too many truths, during our 
editorial career, to be popular among party 
leaders of any party whatever, and the 
masses wtU follow their leaders; — "mv 
sheep know my voice, and they do follow,'' 
mys the Bible, consequently we do not feel 
like expending the time and'money we might 
accidentally have, in so fool-hard^ an enter- 
prise ; besides this, we don't feel inclined to 
sacrillce our personal independence, in trot- 
ting over the county, lick-spittling for votes. 

Oar old friend Lovejoy has hyn elected, 

notwithstanding his card, and we have no 

doubt bat be will do his best to k^p the 

"Uck-^ittlittg" politicians straight. 

We are daily gladdened by the bright 

thoughts contained in our spirited exchange 

ThM SaeramaUo Age, and cannot resist the 

temptation to give to the readers of the 

** Social Chair" the following beautiful and 

truthful sentiments from its columns :— 

** Let us go to the West," said the voung 
emigrant, forty years ago, when, with his ■ 
young wife, he left the homestead, to try his 
fortune in the *'back woods," which ex- 
tended from the Ohio to the Pacific Ocean. ' 
Tho oxen were yoked at the gate, and all [ 
his worldly eflbcts were stowed away in the j 
wagon box.*. When the AUeghanles were ' 

passed, and he looked back and saw them 
stretching away like a thread across the 
horizon, he felt that he was alone in the 
world, and that with a strong arm and a 
sharp ax he was to hew out a fortune in the 

"Father, we are going West," said his 
son, twenty years after, when the yellow 
com was ready for the sickle, and the school 
children were hastening down the lane ; and 
then there was another parting, and the 
emigrant train disappeared in the woods. 

A dozen years afterward the restlen emi- 
grant stopped his plow in the furrow, to 
think of the vas plains stretching away 
toward the West ; his cattie were grazing 
on the prairie ; his log cabin, nicely white- 
washed, appeared through the trees which 
he had planted as a shelter ttom the sun 
when he grew old. His little son was play- 
ing in the furrow, and when the father looked 
over the farm he knew that were but a scant 
inheritance for his poor children. Again he 
thought of the wide, uninhabited plains, 
sloping down to the sea, beyond the Rocky 
Mountains, and wden the sun went down he 
returned to his log cabin silent and dejected, 
and troubled in mind. Discontent had in- 
vaded his home, and there was no more rest 
for him there. 

Again the emigrant went West ; and thus 
have the plains of Oregou and California 
been peopled with many hardy pioneers, 
who keep in advance of the great tide of 
emigration that is rolling westward ; but as 
the restless adventurer moves farther into 
the wilderness, there are others to occupy 
his half finished cabin. 

When the emigrant ships unload their 
freight of squalid poverty at the quays on 
the Atlantic, the lumbering of engines and 
the whirring of machinery admonish tiiem 
that there is nothing to do there ; and they 
too exclaim, " We are going West." And 
here, almost in hearing of the great western 
ocean's surgefi, the immigrants still pass us, 
" going West." *' Tell us, American, where 
is your West?" 

*' It is away in the Polynesia, among the 
palm trees. Following along the tropic, or 
through the frozen regions of the Arctic cir- 
cle, we will look for the West in tha terra 
incognito of ocean, beyond the icy promonto- 
ries of Allaska. Wherever there is land 
enough to build an altar on, or free air 
enough to wave our country's flag, there, 
for a while, may be our West. But when 
we hear footsteps on our trail, we will go on 
nearer to the sepulchre of day, until our na- 
tion's track shall have been left on every 
island, and until our ships, with the moss of 
the world's waters on their keels, shall rise 
again from the Atlantic with the sun, and 
moor themselves at their points of ds- 



Every body knows that Leigh Hunt wrote 
many very sweet and very pretty pieces, 
and bnt few more delicious than the follow- 

Jenny kissed me when we met, 

Jumping from the chair she sat in j 
Time, yoa thief, you love to get 

Sweets in your list— put that in ! 
Say I'm weary, say I'm sad, 

Sav health and wealth have missed me. 
Say I'm showing old, but add*^ 

Jenny kissed me ! 

While upon the sutject of kissing, we give 
from our friend Felixander Doings — 


One hand stole gently 'round her waist, 

The other held her own ; 

Hy lips were parting for a taste 

Of nectar from the throne. 

I drew her closer, closer still, 

I held her to my breast ; 

Her eyes met mine — ye gods I the thrill 

That o'er my body pressed. 

My heart, my very soul took fire — 

Reason no more held sway, 

'Twas burned in passion's fierce desire. 

Then hurled firom me away. 

My breath came hot, and thick and fast — 

Our lips together drew — 

They met — 'twas bliss too rich to last — 

O, joy ! 'twas only then I knew 

How soul met soul upon the lip. 

And melting into one. 

Poured raptures, such as angels sip, 

Through every pore, and run 

Its liquid fire from heart to heart. 

Inspiring every vein. 

What cured I then for wealth or rank, 

Or reputation's name ? 

What cared I then for death or life, 

Could I but pillow there, 

Sheltered secure from all earth's strife 

And free from every care ? 

To hang upon those lips forever, 

And suck the nectar given, 

'Tis all I'd ask — and never 

Wish for more of Heaven. 

in the following, that we know our readers 
will admire it, although it is 


I once had money, and a fnend 

By whom I set great store ; 
I lent my money to tny friend 

And took his word Uierefor: 
I asked my money of my friend. 

But naught but words I got. 
I got no money from my friend, 

Tor sue him I would not ; 
Last came both money and my friend. 

Which pleased me wondrous well ; 
I got my money, but my friend 

Away quite from me fell. 
If I haa money and a friend 

As I had onee before, 
I'd keep my money and my friend 

And play the fool no more. 

There is so much point and expressiveness 

It will no doubt amuse some of our east- 
em firiends to know the way some juries de- 
cide matters in our mining towns. A cor- 
respondent from Camptonville favors us 
with an account of a " good un." A few 
days ago a little fighting spree (as the boys 
call it) "came oflf" in Pike City, under the 
following circumstances : Mr. A. hired Mr. 
R. to work for him, and after six or eight 
months' labor Mr. B. thought that he should 
like to obtain his money therefor. This, 
however, Mr. A. refused to pay, and contin- 
ued to refuse, until R. was tempted to pounce 
upon A. and give him a good flogging. This 
led A. to seek redress from the Justice of 
the Peace ; and, after a " frill and impartial 
trial, before a jury of his countrymen," the 
following v^ict was given : " Mr. R. is 
cleared from the charge against him by Mr. 
A. ; and, moreover, the privilege is granted 
Mr. R. of whipping Mr. A. offoin I providing 
he does it a mie better the next time." Fike, 

(Mat's Calbk 

HoxB-IiAin). — We like occasionally to 
turn a thought to the present, and probable 
ftiture, of our PaciBc home-land. We like 
to compare the progress of California in 
her various phases, with other portions of 
the civiliied world, because we are never 

annoyed by the result of such comparisons* 
Isolated as is California from the great 
body of the Union, it is not surprising that in 
addition to the great interests she possesses 
as a part of that Union, she should also pos- 
sess interests peculiar to her location,— the 



Tmriety «nd traly anomalous properties and 
ralne of her great staple products. 

We would not make any Inyidious com- 
parisons ; we liare no desire to excite the 
OLTj of other lands, or other portions of 
our own land ; but simply to show that Cal- 
ifonuAy with all her faults, has charms that 
ire courted world wide. There is not a 
State in the Union that would not like to 
po o B CW the sunny skies and the salubrious 
clime of California. No other land so little 
remoTed from the foibles of its infancy, can 
ehow a more rapid or noble progress than 

The inyentiye genius and skill of her art- 
ists and mechanics, as exhibited at the late 
Fair of the Mechanics' Institute in this city ; 
and her progress in agriculture, as shown 
from year to year in our State Agricultural 
Fairs — ^the two interests constituting the 
great basis of her prosperity— are already 
her proudest boast 

Bat still there is another interest, of which 
we may well be proud, for the world covets 
it For when, as by an electric shock, the 
great East is yibrating with a panic that is 
shaking the moneyed and " merchant 
princes " from their propriety, and the mass- 
es are writhing under the great pressure, it 
can not but be gratifying to our pride to 
tec with what earnest solicitude they turn 
their eyes upon the younger sister of the 
Republic, as though she held the purse- 
strings of the nation. And twice every 
month does she unlock her magic safe, and 
pour into the laps of her anxious sisters her 
millions of golden treasure. 

California, too, not only exclaims " Eure- 
ka !*' to the Pacific, but, from her position, 
most ever hold the keys of our vast and 
rapidly-increasing commerce. Do not Chi- 
na, India, and the vast arcliipelago of the 
Pacific, lie at our very gates ? When the 
peacefiil employments of older States shall 
content our people, and the love of gold 
become secondary to that of a pleasant 
home, as an incentive to the emigrant, we 
can then make the Pacific alive with our 
fleet of ships, bearing manufactures, Aome 
maxi^adttreit And civilization to the num- 
berleoB islands of Oceanica, and the conti- 
nent of Asia. 

The '* signs of the times," as indicated by 
the political tremblings of the nations of 
the great Asiatic coasts, clearly point to a 
dissolving of present dynasties and ancient 
governmental forms, giving place to new 
and enlarged systems, adequate to the wants 
and exigencies of an advancing civilization. 
That California, from her position, if not 
acting an important part in the great drama 
of barbaric dissolution, will reap an im- 
mense benefit from this convulsion'of Asi- 
atic institutions, needs not the voice of 
prophecy to aflirm, or the lapse of time to 

When her nearly four millions a month, 
the surplus of her industry and earnings of 
her people, shall be retained within her own 
borders, for the development of her vast re- 
sources ; when her people, from the multi- 
plicity of their ships, shall command as their 
own, the whale and other fisheries, and the 
general commerce of the Pacific seas; when 
her agriculture shall have passed from un- 
certain experiment to a positive system; 
when her countless unoccupied acres, teem- 
ing with fertility, shall be brought under 
cultivation ; when her mineral wealth shall 
have been fairly ** prospected " ; then, and 
not till then, can we begin to realize what 
iatobe the fhture of our home-lakd. 

Immiobation. — The present season has 
been characterized by a larger over-land 
emigration to California, than any previous 
one since 1852. The main incentive to em- 
igration by this route has ever been, and 
ever will be, the facilities it presents to ftun* 
ilies for reaching here, at the least possible 
cost ; while they bring with theft their fiocks 
and their herds, which can be done by no 
other route, and which are so much needed 
by them on their arrival, and which add so 
greatly to the real wealth of the State. 

The time occupied in making the trip, is 
from thirty to fifty days more than by steam* 
ship ; but this difierence in time it more 
than made up by the advantages it possessea 

There is not a doubt but that the deter- 
mination of government to open a wagon- 
road along, or in the vicinity of, the great 
emigrant trail, has had its infiuence in pr<> 
moting to some extent the increase of this 


HxrrCmNGS' CALm)ll!lIA liAGAZmB. 

year'ir emigration^ over that of late years^ 
from the rappositioii that it would doabtless 
tend to Insore the safety of emigrants from 
molestation by the Indians ; the greatest 
obstacle to overland transit. And yet it 
never has been so much the actaal annoy- 
ance as the fear of it ; and this fear has, 
without doubt, kept back a large emigra- 

There are thousands of families at this 
moment, that would come to California over- 
land — ^but who never will by any other 
route — if they could but be freed from the 
fear of attack from the Indians of the plains. 
The sacrifices necessarily made in the dispo- 
sal of animals and farming equipments, to 
enable them to make the journey by steam- 
ship, they will never submit to, attended as 
it must invariably be, with great cost, in 
procuring a refitment on arrival. 

It becomes, therefore, a matter of the 

greatest moment, to the prosperity of Cali- 
fornia, that government annually exhibit 
along the line of the great wagon-road, a 
force at least su£Bcient to command the re- 
spect of the few Indians that at times infest 
it. : 

There is not a doubt but that the increase 
of business throughout the middle and 
northern portions of the State, the effects of 
which have been felt by every large city in 
it during the last two months, can be attrib- 
uted mainly to the sudden arrival among us 
of nearly, if not quite, forty thousand im- 
migrants by way of the plains. 

The immigration by this route, this aeap 
son, has mainly consiBted of families, and 
their presence can not but be felt for the 
good of our social relations. It is the kind 
of immigration that should be fostered, by 
every reasonable effort in the power of the 
people of our State to make. 


T. T. B.—To your question, " CanH you af- 
ford to give something for contributions 
of poetry equal to the piece I send you 
herewith ? " we answer, Yes, we can give 
you for every such piece /owr that we 
have received from other sources, either 
of which shall possess more merit than 
yours ; but we don't do such things. 

G, — We think it doubtful that you could 
make such a tale interesting. It is not 
your fcrU, • 

Hinry R. — Thank you ; we douH smoke. 
If, however, it is grown on your own farm, 
we will see that its quality be well deter- 
mined by some '' connoisseur in the art.'' 

A.— Are you " sure it's original ? " 

C, — ^Nezt month we shall find it a place. We 
hope kind friends who favor us will not 
fail to cultivate the virtue of patience. 

George A. — Tour pieces must all be writ- 
ten in some tunnel or dungeon, for they 
always make us " feel blue " to read 
them. Do give us something lively, as 
from the large heart of a true man. Fre^ 

fulness, peevishness, and 2emancholly arise 
from a diseased or childish nature ; and 
are as contemptible in a man, as affecta- 
tion or vanity in a woman. 

Life Pictures^ and Sider May^e Ldter, are re- 
luctantly laid aside, for next month. 

Franeoe, — ^Tour lines are not quite good 
enough for a comer ; but, keep trying. 

R L. Jl— -We don't light our Havanas with 
anything so well written. 

Mercy E. — The name is good enough— but 
the piece — "there's the rub." Try 

r. M,, Orleans Flat.—'Wii is not to be found 
in yours— nothing but " trifles, light as 
air." Declined. 

C. C— When! 

Agrieola. — It was with much chagrin that 
we discovered your signature had been 
omitted when it was too late to conreot 
the oversight 

Bbcbivei>— Many favors too late to nottoe 
this month* 



13EC;S2.£BX1XI, 18S7. 


CALITORNIA QUAIL— HALE AND i ona dirtriela than the line of Uw win- 
FSHALE. tcr'i niawi. 

It is a little Urger Uiw the qnul of the 

Tkia beaatifU biid, tiie Ardtx Cali- nortbern and weetern 8tat«a ; but u m 
/enuM, abottnd« tbroogbovt nearlj the tit-lHt for the epicure, is not its equal ; 
whole of California, if we except the ' its habits making it a bird of harder and 
more open ooDBtrj, entirely deatitut« of tougher flesb. 
liirest or ehmbberj, and the moantain- 1 Its Bight is always Tigorons, and o(t«n 



protracted, luid it moves more rapidly on 
foot; indeed, it seldom takes cover to lie 
close, like the eastern bird, but rises or 
runs at the first approach of danger; and 
though usually seeking perfect cover even 
at the expense of a long Sight, it seldom 
stops but for a moment, and viill then 
continue to run as long as pursued, or 
make another flight longer than before ; 
making it a more difficult bird to sport ; 
and yet, from its great plentifulaess in 
many districts, there is no difficult in 
procuring them in large numbers for the 
markets of our cities. 

They are birds that can be partially 
tamed, or to that degree, that when kept 
in capacious cages, or incloaoree vrhere 
they can get to the ground, they will Lay 
eggs and rear their young, like domestic 

Their fecundity is truly remarkable. 
As an instance, a single female in the 
possession of Mr. John McCraith, reaid- 
iog at the comer of Hyde Street and 
Broadway, San Francisco, has laid dur- 
ing the past emmmer the astonishing 
number of serenty-Dine eggs. She is, 
moreover, very tame, and will eat from 

■ cujioSNu <iti&iL— «UTUKU. sm. 

the band of her mistress, although rather ' 
shy towards strangers. Sometimes the 
male is very pugnacious to ber ladyship 
for several days together, when she has 
to take refuge in a comer, or seek the 
protection of the tea-saucer from which 
they are daily fed. 

This quail must not be confounded 
with another variety known as the moun- 
tain qutul, which is about one-third larger 
than this, and differing in many particu- 
lars; or with another variety known in 
California as the large mountain quul, 
or grouse — the latter being a much 
larger bird, and far more rarely met with 
than either of the others, and is quite 
different from the partridge, pheasant, or 

The California quail is also abundant 
in all the noHhem and middle portions 
of Mexico — although differing slightly 
in the color of their plumage — and is 
there known as the blue quail, from the 

general color of their plum^e, which is 
for the greater part, except upon the back 
and wings, of a leaden or bluish colored 

In autumn they become gr^^rioue to 
a much greater extent than is usual for its 
prototype in the east; as numerous dis- 
tinct flocks or families unit«, the aggre- 
gat« of which often amounts to several 
hundreds ; although even then, as in the 
spring-time, they always go in pairs. 
The California quail, moreover, differs 
from a similar variety in the east, in 
having a beautiful top-knot, or cluster of 
feathers, on the head — generally about 
six in number, yet appearing tike a sin- 
gle feather — anddroopingforward; while 
the eastern quail has no such ornament; 
and in the California mountain quiul, in- 
stead of these hanging forward like those 
here represented, they are much longer 
and larger, and fall in a b*ckwaid di- 
; rection. 


imm aw thb out pioskkiu, 

No. 1— HOCK FARM, 

At th« ateunboBt pbnghs itt fiirrow in 
the onee dear bat now disoolored waters 
of the Rio de loa Plumas, — River of 
Feath e ra deaecrated bjr A mericanitatiop 
into eommoD-place " Feather River," 
— from ita deck can be eeen the beautiful 
and artiatic homestead of the renerable 
pioneer, Qeu. John A. Sutter, standing 
OD ita western bank, about eight miles 
below Harjsville. The stranger passen- 
ger, as he paasea it, is impreuadwith its 
beant j; and his corioBit; leads him to in- 
quire, " Whose charming place is that t" 
And when he is told, a bright smile of 
pleaaure lights up his conntenance as he 
exclainu, " I am glad to know it ; " and 
be inTariably joins with those who know 
aost of the owners goodness of heart, to 

The Ivoad ambrageoos trees spread 

their shade-giving and sheltering arms 
above and around the home of the old 
pioneer, as if to offer him that protection 
he so well deserves ; hut which, alas 1 the 
unfeeling creditor recently would have 
denied him, but for the personal eaori- 
fices made to preserve the old homestead. 

Under the superintendence of Miy, 
Bidwell, Oen. Sutter had this reudeuca 
erected in 1842, and which be placed in 
charge of a major domo until 1849, when, 
to obtun the peace of mind denied him 
amid the excitements and losses which 
followed the gold diecovery, he removed 
from Sutter's Fort, with bis flocks and 
his herds and his numerous Indians, to 
reside at, and improve Hock Farm, 

Bj the taste and energj displayed, the 
fine lands belonging to this magnificent 
domain hare been skillfliUj laid out and 
carefully cultivated ; and while om*- 
mental trees, and shrubs, and flowan, 
gathered with great labor and expense, 
from many lands, present a wildemeaa of 



floral beauty in the front; a large and 
wonderfully produotWe vineyard and oi^ 
ohard of Uio choicest variotieB of fruit 
flouriHh at the south and north— includ- 
ing grapes of the most luscious flaTors, 
peaches, apricota, oranges, nectarines, 
plums, lemons, figs, pomegranates, cher- 
ries, pears, quinces, and apples ; straw- 
berries, gooseberries, raspberries, and 
currants ; all that Pomona and Vertum- 
nns unitedly could gJTe— while at the 
back and on either side, beyond the vine- 
yard and orchards, extand Uie agriculta- 
ral grounds. 

The proTerbial hospitality of ita gen- 
erons owner, and the inviting beauty of 
tlie place, tempted many visitors— and 
while his hands were full, hia heart wae 
open freely to shwe them: but now, 
wronged (and we might add, stolen from) 
on every aide, hia means are much re- 
duced, although hia nature, with all the 
advantages taken of it, u atjll as boun- 
teous as ever ; and should he recuve 
simple justicfr—all that he asks or seeks 

^the princely-hearted pioneer will agun 

bo ready, we doubt not, to open his gen- 
erous and munificent heart to others. 

Thon art like them— in thine eyes 
Something of their BweetnesB lies, 
And the morning sacrifice 

Of thy spint's bloom, Fannie, 
Doth a sweeter fragrance yield 
Than the lilies of the field, 
In the sight of Him who sealed 

In their hearts perfume, Fannie. 

DoBt thou marvel, as I trace 
Touches of their gentle grace 
In the curved lines of thy face, 

That I deem thy heart, Fanoie, 
May a richer treasure hold — 
Hidden in its inmost fold— ^ 
Than their petals, tipped with gold 

like a floral dart, Fannie f 

Welcome would the guerdon be, 
Of that treasure, unto me. 
For a link of sympathy 

Binds my heart to thine, Fannie; 
Let my dewy offering 
Fragrant thoughts and odors bring; 
Types of thee — yet symboling 

Brightest hopes of mine, Fannie. 

H. L. V. 



From thy earliest morning hour, 
Like a fragile, drooping flower, 
Cherished in a peaceful bower, 

Thou hast ever been, Fannie; 
Time baa stolen, even day, 
Boae-hues from thy cheek away : 
Thou art like the lilies, they 

Toil not, neither spin, Fannie. 

Tet no king was e'er arrayed 
In more glorious Testure, mada 
By the sunshine and the shade, 

And the falling dew, Fannie; 
PreaoherB in the open air. 
Surplices of white they wear 
When His glory they declare, 

Who ia good and true, Fannie. 


The above engraving lepreseats the 
natural uxe of a grape, of the Muscat of 
Alexandria variety, plucked from one of 
many bunohes, eaoh bunch weighing from 
three to four and a half pounds, from like 
ranch of Capt. Macondray, at San Hateo. 
If the illustration ^ven were but a trifle 
smaller it would then be the average size 
of every grape grown on that vine during 
the past nunmer. 




Tmble Rock ia BitDsted in the nortbero 
put of Sierra (»untj, about four miles 
Erom tbe town of Saint Louia, and ia aaid 
lo be 7000 feet sbove the level of the aes. 
Tbera haa beea alreadj ao mnch said 
abont this wonderful rock, and the scene- 
TT coDoected with it, that I shall Dot pre- 
nune to present anything new, but merelj 
gtTe 70a a sketch of a Tiait which I made 
upon it the other da;. 

A frieod and njself left Saint Lonia 
about 3 o'clock in the aneruoon,OD mulei, 
and in two hoars we were od top, and I 
nostssLyl neverwitnessed such resplendent 
scener; aa presented itself to our view. 
Far in tbe distant west waa the coaat 
range looming np in Ihe dim miat, while 
in the north the snow-capped hoar; head of 
Shasta Bntte was far abore its surrotrnding 
companions, presenting to tbe beholder a 
most beaatifnl sight. 

Nearer ns, was to be seen the neat and 
IhiiTing little Tillages of Saint Louia, Fine 
Grove, OibionTille ; beside those of less 
importance, Whiikej Diggings, Spanish 

Flat, and Chandlerville, while the blue 
cnrliog amoke could be seen arising from 
hundreds of miners' cabins, from nearlj 
everj ravine and Sat for milea around. I 
was 80 perfectlj charmed that it was with 
reluctance I left the spot at a late hour in 
the evening. 

The summit eovera a apace of about an 
acre, and is almost level, which affords a 
fine place for pic-nics, and there have been 
several upon it this summer from Sunt 
Louis, and other towns in the viciuit/. I 
have been upon the ocean and witnessed 
it in all its grandeur ; I have watched the 
aun go down behind the tempeBtuoua waves 
of the troubled waters, and when that ocean 
was as calm as a crystal lake at summer's 
noon-daj ; but it is not to be compared 
with the scenerj of the setting son wit- 
nessed from upon Table Rock. It wns our 
intention to remain until after sunset when 
we started, for vre knew the moon would 
soon rise after the sun went down, and we 
were more than repaid for oor staj. While 
the last golden rajs were lingering abont 
our pet, we conld look down far beneath 
OS and watch the shades of night twining 
around those below, and far awaj to the 
north Shaata Butte was yet clothed in the 
golden rays of the setting aun. It soon 
disappeared behind the coast range, and 



ere twilight's last glimmering had van- 
iBhed, the moon in all her refulgent beauty 
had climbed the highest peak behind us in 
the- east, and sent his silvery light dancing 
through valleys and over mountains, and 
it was hard to decide which was the most 
grand— the scene by day or by moonlight. 

American travelers are ever wandering 
through foreign lands in search of beauti- 
ful natural scenery, and writing volumes 
upon volumes in praise of those scenes, 
while, I believe, there is more beautiful 
natural scenery in California than any 
other spot on God's foot-stool. The wild 
cataracts which go rolling and tumbling 
down the deep craggy cations ; the crystal 
mountain lakes filled with a variety of fish j 
the beautiful valleys clothed in verdant at- 
tire, where sports the deer and the antelope 
the long summer's day, unmolested by the 
hunter's rifle, all combined make the Sierra 
Nevada mountains one of the most en- 
chanting spots on earth for the pleasure- 
seeking world ; and it is a mystery to me 
that there are not more visiting them during 
the summer months in search of pleasure 
and amusements, and I am certain there 
would be, were the romantic beauties bet- 
ter known throughout the world. About 
9 o'clock we began to descend, and by 12 
we were at home again, much pleased with 
our adventure. It is no hardship to go 
upon Table Bock, for the ascent is grad- 
ual, and we could ride almost on the 
top, and I believe there have been persons 
there with mules, although we did not 
try the experiment 

They are now engaged in running tun- 
nels under this wonderful mountain. The 
« California Company" have already struck 
pay dirt, but are still penetrating further, 
in hopes of finding something better. It 
is supposed by many that the Blue Lead, 
which is found at Forest City and other 
places, runs under this mountain, and has 
proven to be the richest in the State. The 
** Bright Star," a large and wealthy com- 
pany, are now engaged in running an in- 
clined tunnel, and have in full operation a 

steam engine for that purpose, and should 
this company strike anything good. Table 
Mountain will be penetrated by tunnels in 
every direction. 


Extracts firom the Corpus Historian of 
Diodoms Siculus, of whom Justin Martyr 
and other eminent men, said that he was 
the most famous of all the great historians. 
Diodoms Siculus flourished about sixty 
years before the birth of Christ, and the 
period to which these extracts refer, was 
probably about a century before that time : 

^'In the confines of Egypt, and the 
neighboring countries of Arabia and Ethi- 
opia, there is a place full of rich gold 
mines, out of which, with much cost and 
pains of many laborers, gold is dug. The 
soil here naturally is black, but in the body 
of the earth run many white veinSf shining 
wiih white tnarble and glistening with all 
sorts of other bright metals ; out of which 
laborious mines those appointed overseers 
cause the gold to be dug up by labour of 
a vast multitude of people." ♦♦♦*♦♦ 
'' The earth which is hardest and full of 
gold they soften by putting fire under it, 
and then work it out with their hands ; the 
rocks thus softened, and made more pliant 
and yielding, several thousands of profli- 
gate wretches break it in pieces with ham- 
mers and pickaxes. Those that are the 
strongest amongst them that are appoint- 
ed to this slavery, provided with sharp iron 
pickaxes, cleave the marble shining rock 
by mere force and strength, and not by art 
or slight of hand. They undermine not 
the rock in a direct line^ but foUow the 
bright shining vein of the mine. They 
carry lamps fiistened to their foreheads to 
give them light, being otherwise in perfect 
darkness in the various windings and turn- 
ings wrought in the mines." ♦••♦»♦ 
** Those that are about thirty years of age 
take a piece of the rock of such a certain 
quantity, and pound it in a stone mortar 


wtlh iion pasties till it tw as amall m a 
Tclch, than those little stones so poiwded 
ue taken &om tliem bf women and older 
men, who cast them into milk that stand 
together there near at hand in a long row, 
and, two (w three of them being employed 
at one mill, thej grind it so long till it be 

M small as fine meal." 


teagth the masters of the work take the 
Hone thoa gronnd to powder, and carry it 

awa; in order to the perfecting of it. The; 
spread the mineral so gronnd upon a broad 
board, som«uAaf hoUcw and lying thelv- 
ing, and, ptniring teater u^n it, mi it 
and eUame it, and »o all the earthy and 
dn»typarl being teparated from the retl 
by water, it rum off the board, and tt« 
gold, by reaton of tit weight, remmnt io- 


The hte Hecbaoics' Industrial Ezhi- 
hitioD tangtit California manj rerj im- 
portant fiMta; and, among others, that 
the amonnt of mechanical skill within the 
State waa such as to encourage the hope 
that at DO distant day we might rel j npon 
mirselTee fbr the manufacture of manj if 
not by br the greater oomber of articles 
which are consumed. We revive the sub- 
ject at this jnoctnre for two reasons ; the 

first is, that young men ma; spend th^ 
time, especially their leisure, in nia king 
experiments in one or more departments 
of industry, to see what can be produced 
— not fbr the next exhibition merely, but 
for actual consumption, that tiie vast 
amount of gold annually taken from our 
mountains may be kept at home, to enrich 
our State, in preference to exporting it for 
goods, to enrich others ; and the next reft- 
son is, in new of the large population 
said to be seeking our shores &om the 


Atiwitio States, M we have rsw materials 
in abnadance, of almoat ererj variety and 
quelitj, to the man j who would othetwise 
hate to seek employment at mining— and 
thus be called to perfonn that kind of 
labor to which they are tatally unaccui- 
toraed, and physically incapable BJid un- 

hatntuated; tiiatarenueaoftndustiTmi^ 
be opened up by which their labor can be 
made available in sncfa branches of in- 
dustry as to make it lesa wearing upon 
the individual, and become the moat ad- 
vantogMUB to the State. 

The above correct engraving of the re- 
markable tooth and portion of tie jaw — 
belonging doubtless to an animal of die 
order Pachydermata, of the group Fro- 
boscidea, and of which the elephant ia 
now the only living representative ; while 
die mammoth, mastodon, and others of 
the same group, have beoome estinot — 
was found on Twist's ranch, near Mor- 
mon Creek, Tuolumne county, (about 
three and a half miles from Sonora,) by 
Mr. James Qilbert, on the 30th of May, 
ISSl, while mining. It was discovered 
embedded in the ground, within about 
three inches of the "bed-rock," about 
twelve feet from the suriaoe, underneath 
an oak tree about three feet in diameter. 
The tooth meaenred six and three-fburths 
inobea in breadth ; and the longest feng 
or root of Uke tooth waa eight and one- 
fourth depth from the upper 
snriaoe to the lower point, uid which 
reached nearly through to the lower side 
of the jaw-bone. The jaw-bone vras nx 
and three-fburth inches in width — with 
liie upper and lower side a little rounded, 
■• shown in the engraving — and riz and 

a half inches in depth. The tooth stood 
above the sides of the jaw about two 
inches. This, with the other portions of 
the jaw found here, measured over three 
feet in length. 

To the Naturalist, Antiquarian, Oeol- 
o^t, and Botanist, California offers a 
wider and more interesting field of re- 
search than is often found in newly set- 
tled countries. 


Placerritle, the county seat of El Do- 
rado County, is situated upon a amall 
branch of Weber Greek, a tribnt&ry of 
the South Fork of the American Kiver. 
Originally it flourished, if it did not re- 
joice, under the somewhat dubions sobri- 
quet of Hangtown, after which the creek 
upon which it stands was named. And 
though the first of Califoniia towns, or 
mining camps, to adopt tiie Lynch-law 
code for the speedy punishment of the 
murderer at the hands of a vi^lance 
committee, it has sines passed through 
evsiy grade of gambling and bnll-«nd- 



beu-baiting notorietj, to its present en- 
Tiftble poaidon, as one of the best regu- 
lated and moat orderl; cities in the State. 

Placerville iB one of tbe largest of the 
moantun cities of California, and ae 
earlj as 1853 contained a popnlatiou — 
inclnding the upper and lower town — of 
OTer three thoneand, with Eve hundred 
uid fifty-five buildiogs, including dwell- 
ing-houses, shops, stores, and manufacto- 
rie«. Its eorlj and rapid growth was 
mainly attributable to the extent sjid 
richneaa of the gold fields in its immedi- 
ate Ticinitfi B feature it still pOBseBaea 
to an eitraordinATj degree. 

Situated upon tlie great main immi- 
grant toail leading into California from 
the plains, and being the first city, town 
or village arriTed at after crossing the 
Sierra Nevada monntuns by the Carson 
Talley route, it has ever been a place of 
large trade in iramigraDt stock arriving 
from the plains, as well as the principal 
mart of trade in many species of mer- 
ehandiio r«quired by a rapidly increas- 
ing mining, farming and lombering pop- 
nlation; a trade which luts lately teceived 

bn W. Sabmm,] 

a new impulse, by tie construction of an 
excellent wagon road — by the counties 
of El Dorado and Sacramenta — through 
Johnson's Psaa of the Sierraa to Carson^ 
Wash-ho, and the other great valleya to 
the east of the mountains, now rapidly 
settling by an industrious and thriving 
agricultural and mining populaUon. 

On the 7th of July, 1856, the oi^ — 
which was principally built of wood — 
was almost totally destroyed by fire. The 
engraving here given shows the city as it 
appeared one year after that fire, (this 
view having been taken in July last, ) and 
after its having been to some considera- 
ble extent rebuilt Its locality, on a nar- 
row fiat along a winding ravine, precludes 
the possibility of giving but a part of it 
in a single view. I^e one we here pre- 
sent is of the lower and principal part 
of the tovra, from a poioton the hill-side 
adjacent to the lower end of Main Street, 
and la a truthful engraving of it. The 
city, as rebuilt, contuna a larger number 
of fire-proof edifices, in proportion to the 
siie of the place, than any other city id 
California, and is in every respect one of 



the neatest and most carefully kept of 
any in the mountains. 

It is centrally situated in the county, 
and from it radiate numerous stage lines 
that daily connect with the northern and 
8<MiUiem mines direct; also, with Fol- 
Bom, Sacramento, and, during the sum- 
mer season, with Carson Yalley, east of 
the mountains. 

It contains Congregational, Methodist, 
Baptist and Catholic churches; an iron 
foundry ; several quartz mills within the 
city limits, and a few fine hotels. There 
are numerous schools, with a good at- 
tendance; three newspapers — two week- 
lies, and one tri-weekly — which are 'an 
index of the thrift and prosperity of this> 
the first of California's mining, mountain 

During the winter of 1851, when gam- 
bling was a popular pastime, and gambling 
houses were places of general resort in 
which to while away the long evenings, 
many may still remember the old Trio 
Hall as one of the most frequented of 
ihose places. On one of these occasions, 
when the saloon was completely filled 
with gamblers and loungers, a tall, rough- 
looking and roughly dressed western 
man, with a large powder-horn hanging 
under his arm, walked quietly up, and 
edged his way— a difficult task— to the 
sheet-iron stove; and, after standing a 
few moments looking about him, he 
poured some of the contents of the pow- 
der-horn into his hand, and quietly 
poured it back agiun; then, again look- 
ing around very unconcernedly for a few 
seconds, he stepped up to the stove, took 
the lid deliberately from the top, looked 
in, and almost instantly threw ^e pow- 
der-horn down upon the blazing fire, as 
he coolly remarked, ''Well, boys, let us 
all go to h — together ; we may as well 
go at first as at last.^' 

The scene of confusion which ensued 
must be imagined, as description is im- 
possible. Those who stood nearest the 
stove, and had seen the movement, in- 

stantly leaped over benches and tables, 
amidst gamblers and pUes of money, to 
make for ihe door ; others jumped through 
the vdndows; while others who were be- 
hind, seeing the excitement, and suppos- 
ing that the house was falling, or on fire« 
rushed for the street, in their haste tum- 
bling one over the other, in less time than 
it tidies to recite it. 

Within a couple of minutes, the large 
saloon was emptied of its living masses 
of men, vnth one exception ; large heaps 
of money left upon the gambling tables ; 
liquors, musical instruments, and every- 
thing else, were deserted, except the 
stove ; and by that, unmoved, stood our 

As the expected explonon did not take 
place, in a few minutes some of the most 
venturesome of the crowd mustered suf- 
ficient courage to look cautiously in at 
the door, and when they saw our rough 
looking friend still standing there they 
called to him to make his escape before it 
was too late. 

"Don't you trouble about me," was 
the drawling reply, "I'm all right enough 
— there's plenty of room now — I cam 
have a warm comfortably — that's what I 
could'nt get before." 

Presently several persons ventured up 
to his side, and inquired of him why he 
did'nt run. 

" What should J run for," was the un- 
concerned answer, " there — trof — nothing 
'^n^-4hatn^ham--fmt^Blach--'Sand /" 


This is the name given by Mr. Au 
Chavanne, of Grass Yalley, Nevada Co., 
to an invention of his for pulverizing 
quarts-tailings. The tiulings to be pul- 
verized are shoveled to the conical table 
on the top of the machine, to which is 
given a slow rotary motion; a stream of 
water from a small pipe then washes 
them into a trough — as shovm in the 



engraTing — down which they are mn 
into m cap, or leoemng basin, and frouv 
thence oonvejed between two oaBt-iion 
plat«0, hanng » teeth-«hftped inner aur- 
bce, knd u the apper one, weighing 
tbont nine hnndred pounds, is driven 
nnind, six ladden dropping motions are 
given it at each revolution. 
The inventor affirms that each maehtne 

will pulverize troax five to ux tons of 
tailings in twentj-four hours, and save 
twenty per cent, of gold that would otli' 
erwise be lost. We saw three of them 
at work in his mill at Orass Valley, 
which seemed to work very well; but as 
to their usefulness in saving the gold, we 
had no means of forming an opinion. 


Wishing to obtain a view of the bean- 
dfoUy pictureeqe waterfall of Fall river, 
a tributary of the middle fork of Feather 
river; and Forbest«wn, Butte county, 
having been represented to us as the 
nearest and best starting point for it, of 
conrMi we had sufficient good sense to 
prefer Forbeatoim to any other ; accord- 
ingly we set our faces in that direction, 
and there arrived in safety over a break- 
neck kind of road. Under the hospitable 
roof of Broim's Hotel we took shelter and 
sleep for the night; and e&rlj the fol- 
lowing morning we prepared for our 
journey. As we knew nothing of the 
road thiUier, before starting we made it 
our bosines* to inquire ; and it so hap- 
pened that thoee who described to us the 
vsrioos trails to be taken, and the others 
to be avoided, knew them about as well, 
except by hearsay, as we did; and thai 

knowledge being very much confused and 
"mixed np" in the recital, our owa 
remembance of the trails thus, there and 
then described, became very much like a 
tangled skein of silk, "only more so." 

One foot was however certain, the dis- 
tance there was only about seven or 
eleven or nineteen miles; and by no 
means over thir^, providing we took the 
right trail; and "providing" we did'nti 
why — there could be no doubt experience 
might assist to teach us that it was still 
further. This rather indefinite eiplan^ 
tiou of distance suggested the precaution 
of asking in which direction Fall river 
lay, from Forbestown. 

" Due north," was the answer. 

"Then suppose we start 'due north' 
oomrod," sud we, addressing our oompan- 
ion, Mr. E. Jump, on enthusiaatio young 

"By no manner of means," interrupted 
our informant. "Whyl blessyonr souloi 



you have to cross the south fork of 
Feather, and in places the banks of the 
stream are about" a thousand I feet per- 
pandicular — did jon ever travel much in 
these parts?" 


"Ahl I thought so; weHU then, you 
keep down the river in this direetion, 
(pointing west,) and cross at Bingham's 
Bar, and then take tiiis direction" — 
(pointing a little east of north.) 

"Thank you — all right — now, here's 

Whore or when to commence descend- 
ing the ridge, or how to know Bingham's 
Bar from New Jerusalem or any other 
bar, wt reserved inquiring until we mi^t 
meet some one else, fearing le^ any fur- 
Uier questioning might result in our find- 
ing the description still more "mixed 
up"; but, as we did not meet any one, it 
was just our luck to tak» the wrong trail 
down the wrong ridge; and although 
easy exeroise enough for us— if deacendr 
ing a hill rapidly can be called easy ex- 
ercise — the horse every now and then 
seemed to be going endwise, putting us 
in perpetual dread, lest in some of the 
most precipitous places he might be in- 
duced against his will to turn a somer- 
sault. At length we reached the river at 
Bandolph Point, and, as crossing it there 
was out of the question, we made our 
way down stream; climbing over and 
around clusters of large rocks; tumbling 
over one, sliding down another — ^the horse 
following — until in the distance we saw 
a flume, and some men working near 
it: these carefully indicated the course 
we should take, by mapping out the va- 
rious trails upon the sand — here it 
forked, and there it didn't. Now we 
.oould s6e it exactly, and off we again 
started. Up, up, straight up almost, oh I 
such a mountain! and the day being 
warm, the reader can better guess than 
we describe our moistened condition 
from perspiration, for a couple of hours 
before we reached the top. 

Here, on the ridge, we found the trail 
exactly as described by the men on the 
river, and we were in high spirits that 
before very long we should arrive at Frey 
and Foster's, a wayside house somewhere 
Ofa that divide, and our intended stop- 
ping-place for the night. As we jour- 
neyed on, the trail grew smaller and less 
distinct^ and, somewhat to our dismay, 
soon "run out" altogether. Here was 
an unexpected damper to our hopes and 
anticipations; several miles from no- 
where, and nobody knowing where any- 
body lived; or ourselves, even, knowing 
where we were, or in what direction to 
go. Before and behind us, on our right 
hand and on our left; was one vast forest 
.of large and lofty trees, and although to 
some of the largest of the sugar pines, 
the Indians had but very recently at- 
tached long and slender poles, by which 
to climb to the seed-treasuring cones de- 
pending gracefully from the branohes of 
those trees, yet the Indians themselves 
were not to be found. Therefore, on, on 
we went, in uncertainty and doubt, with- 
out any trail, or signs of one, in the 
direction pointed out to us. 

The sun was fast setting, and we began 
to feel somewhat desirous of breaking our 
fast — for as yet we had tasted nothing 
since early morning, beyond a few pieces 
of. sugar which we had picked from the 
burnt heart of the sugar pine. Besides, 
the thought of being in liie forest alone, 
and at night, without blankets, or food 
either for ourselves or animal, made us 
anxious to reach the desired haven before 
such a result was impossible. This idea 
induced us to quicken our pace, although 
much fatigued ; and on, on we went, more 
rapidly, across this ravine, through that 
chapparal, and over that low ridge, until, 
while descending the steep sides of a 
small cation, (it was now almost dark,) 
we saw the bushes moving on the oppo- 
site side, and instantly we cried out, "A 
grizzly! a grizzly!" but in the next mo- 
ment we changed our cry and our opin- 


ion, bj finding tliat it wat b nutn — a reml 
lire mui — a "proapecter," vith his pick 
and shovel on hie shoulder, and his pan 
niidar hie arm. To laj that we were 
pleaaed, but fwntly oxpTeeses oui feeliogg 
at euch an unexpected piece of good for- 
tune, lie showed a dim tieul to us, and, 
pointing to lonie dead braochce set np 
agaiDBt trees, said — "When the trail 
gea too dim to see it, look ahead for 
tbeee, until you reach the main road." 
Bj tkis opportune guidance we reached 
the FaU River HoDge (Frey and Foeter's) 
about a couple of houra after dark; 
where, under the influence of the many 
good things provided by onr host, we for- 
got the tooublw of the day. 

Eariy the following morning, we were 
on our way down a spur of the main 
ridga, leading towards the &11b, situated 
about five miles distant; and about ten 
o'clock we reached the middle fork of 
Feftthei Stiver. Clunbing around here 

and there, to avoid a supposed abrupt 
descent, we made tbe five miles about 
oine; thus spending two of the best 
hoars of the morning nnprofitably, when 
the best and easiest oourse would have 
been directly down the main ridge. At 
length, aner a wearisome time of climb- 
ing, and sliding, and scratching, and 
tumbling, we reached the middle fork of 
Feather, and could hear the hissing, 
splashing sound from the waterfall we 
had oome to see. Winding our way 
aroiud the rooky and timbei^«overed 
point, shown on the right side of the juo- 
ture, we came in sight of the falls. • 

On either side of the leaping sheet of 
spray stand bold granite mountains, worn 
and broken in pieces; and upon their 
lofty summits a forest of pines, which 
look, in distance, only a little larger than 
good-siied walking-canes. From the in- 
terstices between the rocks grow small 
groves of live oaks — mere patches of 



unshayen beard apon the QneTen face of 
nature — while in the centre before yon, 
from the middle fork of Feather River, 
where we are supposed to stand while 
looking at this scene of beauty and maj- 
esty, about a thousand feet aboye us, over 
its rocky rim shoots a splendid sheet of 
water, dashing itself to millions of liquid 
atoms, portions of which rise to be 
formed into mist-wreaths of many colors, 
with Which to adora this fine old moun- 
tain's brow ; while the reminder rushes 
on, on, unheeding the huge boulders thJEit 
lie in and obstruct its pathway; and if it 
cannot roll them down, it dashes past, or 
climbs their smooth granite shoulders 
and leaps oyer them into a gurgling 
eddy or rushing current; and, about a 
quarter of a mile from the falls, it joins 
the larger stream. 

There is a deep pleasure in listening 
to the yaried melody of water as it rushes, 
or leaps, or gurgles, or rattles, or boils, 
or creeps, or ripples among rocks, sing- 
ing its musical songs ; and, if the reader 
should delight in hearing it, or seeing 
the wonders of this beautiful spot, pre- 
ferring to worship God and nature to 
money and money-getting, let him yisit 
here, and he will be abundantly satisfied. 



" Tes — ^if God spares my life, I wiU 
come to you" That was what I wrote ; 
that was the decision I had made. I 
paused a moment to look upon that sen- 
tence — so full of meaninc— «nd, if possi- 
ble, to comprehend its full import, and I 
did. I felt then that in it rested my 
whola future; all my life's happiness or 
misery. Fears I had none, for with a 
heart full of perfect trust had I answered 
that question, which the last mail from 
California had brought me ; yet I had 
considered the subject well before giyiug 
an answer which I knew must be irrevo- 
cable, not that doubts had arisen, but 
that I wished to think carefully, to test 
my own stren^h and love for the stran- 
eer ; to know if for that stranger I could 
leave home, friends, old associations, and 

all I held dear, to go forth alone to meet 
him in that far-off land. I wished to 
know myself thoroughly before giving my 
decision. I did not, from the first, doubt 
what that decbion would be, but the 
struggle was severe ; the thought of leav- 
ing home, bitterness itself. 

But it was over now, and my mind be- 
came calmer; a sweet peace filled my 
whole being, and a consciousness that I 
was performing no act upon which I could 
ask God's blessing, though I had taken 
the step unadvisedly. Not even to my 
mother nad I gone for counseL I knew 
a mother's fond heart could never wil- 
lingly give up a beloved child under such 
circumstances ; yet I knew neither of my 
parents would forbid, though they might 
strongly oppose the step, which I felt to 
be ri^t. X knew I should not go forth 
from my childhood's home unblessed, 
therefore I thought it best, for the pres- 
ent, to keep my own counsel, and wait 
for circumstances, or some favorable op- 
portunity to reveal the fact. I could not 
thus early bring sorrow to the breasts of 
those fond parents, that precious only 
sister, and tnose young brothers who so 
loved "sister Mary," as some months 
must necessarily elapse before my depar- 
ture. It was now early spring, and I 
should remain at home until the begin- 
ning of autumn. 

^ One afternoon, in summer, I was sit- 
ting alone with mother. I had still de- 
layed telling her my intention of going to 
CaUfomia, but as uie time drew near, I 
felt that it could be delayed no longer. 
Gently as possible I told her of my love 
for the stranger — ^though of that she knew 
before, and nad approved my choice— of 
his request that I should come to him, 
and of my determination to comply. She 
received it with a quaint smile, tmnking 
me only in jest, but my serious manner 
soon assured her of its truth. For a long 
time she sat without speaking, then arose 
and left the room, and I saw ner no more 
until evening, when she came to my own 
room with mther. Sitting there in the 
dim twilight, each clasping one of my 
hands, they talked earnestly and tearfully 
with me, telling me to think well before 
taking so important a step ; they spoke 
of their own loneliness ; of the dangers 
to which I should be exposed during the 
long journey, but I had considered it all 
before, and only asked their blessing ere 
I should leave their kind care for the 
protection the stranger offered. The 
blessing was not withheld, bat from that 



hoar no word was spoken upon the sub- 

I commenced makine preparations for 
my journey. Father piaoed in my hand 
a sum of money witnout a word as to 
the way it was to be appropriated. Moth- 
er assisted me in many things without 
directly speaking of the object. Sister, 
too, was busy with her needle, and helped 
me select such articles as were necessary, 
but she, too, ayoided speaking of the ob- 
ject of all this preparation. 

The time haa cornel — the last morning 
in my girlhood's home! I had passed a 
restless, wakeful night, falling into a dis- 
turbed sleep just before dawn, only to be 
awakened oy a low knock at my door, 
and mother's eentleyoice, saying, "Come 
Bfary, you wiuied to be callea at sunrise." 
Then I heard a sob, and her footsteps de- 
scended the stairs. I started up with a 
strange, bewildered feeling. Was this, 
indeed, my last morning at home? My 
sister had risen before me, and I could 
bear her weeping in an adjoining room. 
That dearly loy^ sister ! must we then 

I cast but one glanc